


Harry Potter and the Skat-Hatokha Reaction

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-19
Updated: 2009-07-11
Packaged: 2019-01-19 12:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Harry's life is quiet, but now, his career as an Auror will lead both him and Ron halfway around the world to investigate a mysterious school known only as the Skat-Hatokha Academy of Magic.But as more time passes, the more the case begins to take on a life of its own, and not just for Harry.     ...





	1. Chapter 1   The Notebook Paper Rejection

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

 

**Chapter 1  
The Notebook Paper Rejection**

The sun shone through the clouds hazily that muggy mid-June morning. The life in a small, West Country village was just beginning to stir from the night’s sleep. It was already warm, even though the true heat of the day had yet to take its effect. Down one particular street, there was one cottage known by everyone. Like all other homes in Godric’s Hollow, it was a cosy house of red bricks, some appearing newer than the others. A small lawn surrounded it, the trees full and green and the flowers slightly larger than their spring buds. The memories of this place and what had happened there had held it in silence for many years. This morning, however…

“Ginny, have you seen my tie?”

“On the doorknob, Harry.”

At seven in the morning, this had been the typical scene for several months. Downstairs in the kitchen, Ginny Potter would be alternating between cooking breakfast, looking over her notes from last night's Quidditch match, or taking care of one of a million other things she had to do in and around the house, including her young son, James. Harry, on the other hand, would be upstairs, getting a late start as usual.

Becoming more and more panicked every minute, he glanced at his watch and fumbled on the bathroom counter between the toothbrush and the comb, taking minimum glances in the mirror. At twenty-four, his hair still stuck up all over the place, something he now felt he would never outgrow.

When Harry and Ginny had first moved into his parents’ old house, a lot of people questioned the wisdom of it. It had been left in disrepair as a type of monument to James and Lily for so many years. Some even called it disrespectful of Harry and his young family to live there. But whenever Harry heard this, he would just smile and explain that Voldemort had already taken too much from him in his life, and that it was high time he started taking back what was rightfully his.

Besides, once all the repairs had been finished, it really was a wonderful place to live. The house was snug, certainly a lot cheerier than Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

“Morning, Ginny," Harry half-shouted as he scrambled down the polished wooden stairs. "I’m late, no time for breakfast!”

“Sit!” she ordered before he could pass by the kitchen, pointing at him with the spatula. “You haven’t been home for more than five hours this week. Sit down and have breakfast with your wife and son.”

As much of a hurry as Harry was in, he still found he could never say no to his wife. She had given him a beautiful son, and stood by him through a war and seven years of his stupidity.

With a show of fake reluctance, Harry sauntered into the warm kitchen and through to the dining room. The air was thick with the smell of both breakfast and dish soap. Harry removed his wand from his back pocket and took a comfortable seat at the far end of the oak table, allowing himself a few moments' peace allotted him for the rest of the day.

“I have an article I need to finish by the end of the day,” Ginny told Harry as she piled the plate in front of him with fried eggs, “so I’ll be dropping James off at Luna’s…Don’t make that face, Harry!”

“Well, what if she leaves him in the garden so he can play with the gnomes, and they carry him off?”

“That only happened once, Harry!”

“Three times,” Harry muttered under his breath. “And don’t forget, Andromeda is dropping Teddy off here for dinner tonight. She’ll be back to pick him up around nine.”

“I won’t,” Harry assured her, taking one last bite of food to satisfy her. “Great breakfast, sweetie.”

Harry was about to make another run for the front door, having to also double back for his wand when he remembered he had almost forgotten something even more important. In a blue highchair, set not far from where Ginny could keep an eye on him, was another of the most important people in his new life, right along with Ginny. James looked back up at him with his bright brown eyes, as though he also knew his father had forgotten something.

“See you, James,” Harry said, kneeling down to eye level with his fifteen month old son. “Can you say ‘bye-bye’?”

“Bye, Da-ddy,” James smiled, shoving a fistful of cereal into his mouth.

Harry smiled and ruffled the mop of jet black hair on top of his son’s head, almost tempted to forget about work entirely and spend the entire day playing horsie and peek-a-boo. One more glace at his watch, however, made him speed off like an rampaging hippogryff. Harry skid down the hallway, slidded past a cupboard under the staircase that, along with Ginny's help, Harry had boarded up almost as soon as they moved in, nearly running headlong into the front door before opening it and sprinting out.

* * *

 

“Harry…HARRY!”

“Sorry, Ron. What is it?”

“What do you think is wrong with Hermione?” Ron repeated once again in a very frustrated tone.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know! One minute she's going on and on about how happy she is that I’m finally an Auror, then she’s yelling at me, saying I never come home anymore, and then she starts crying and saying she’s a terrible wife.”

“That's odd. But this career change is a pretty big transition, Ron,” suggested Harry. “You’ve got to give her time to get used to it.”

Walking through the Ministry of Magic on such a busy morning, Harry was surprised the two of them could even keep up a conversation, what with people whooshing in and out of the Floo, office doors opening and closing, lifts clanging, the Minister of Magic's latest speech being broadcast and nearly a thousand voices buzzing all around them. The entire Ministry was like one giant hive. Harry also wondered how he had ever been able to get used to it.

“How about tonight you bring her home some flowers and take her out to dinner so she doesn’t have to cook?” Harry offered, feeling himself that this was pretty useless advice. “Maybe you just need to spend some time together to talk about things.”

“ _They honestly don’t expect us to swallow this_ -” shouted a cold voice coming from in front of them.

“Mr. Malfoy, please calm down!”

Harry and Ron instantly stopped in their tracks. Standing in front of them were two familiar people, one of whom they had come to simultaneously respect and fear in their years at Hogwarts: Minerva McGonagall. And she was arguing with none other than the infamous Lucius Malfoy.

Seven years after the fall of Voldemort, the Malfoys were free, but struggling to refurbish their family name, especially Lucius. With the family's money gone and their influence along with it, Harry knew there was no danger of Lucius Malfoy ever having power over anything every again.

But today, the normally calm and collected Lucius Malfoy was standing in the middle of the floor at the Ministry of Magic, red in the face and screaming his lungs out.

“You are the headmistress of one of the finest schools of witchcraft and wizardry in the world! Don’t tell me that for one minute you actually see nothing wrong with this!”

Lucius waved a very battered and worn piece of notebook paper in front of Professor McGonagall.

“Why would I?”

“BECAUSE THEY’RE CRIMINALS!”

“Juvenile offenders, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor McGonagall corrected, with a raised eyebrow at Lucius' last remark.

Criminals at Hogwarts? Now Harry _had_ to know what was going on.

“Mr. Malfoy, I am not required to come to you with every letter of refusal I get. The System's act simply stated that these children have to actively pursue some form of education. It doesn’t have to be Hogwarts. We have already received several letters of intent for other schools-”

“YES!” shouted Lucius, as though Professor McGonagall were as dense as a lead wall. “For Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, schools people have _actually_ heard of! BUT WHAT FOR MERLIN'S SAKE IS THE SKAT-HATOKHA ACADEMY OF MAGIC?”

“I assume it is a school,” Professor McGonagall explained frigidly. “You can tell because it has the word ‘academy’ in it.”

Lucius Malfoy was rendered speechless for a moment, trying to recover from this latest insult to his intelligence.

“Professor McGonagall, that country has no history of even trying to keep a rein of control on-”

“Well, maybe they are trying to remedy that situation,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, clearly becoming annoyed with the whole conversation. “Have you considered that, Mr. Malfoy?”

But Lucius Malfoy was refusing to let this argument go.

“If this school _even is_ credible, how do we know the student who sent this letter has even been accepted there?”

Professor McGonagall answered this latest challenge by pulling several different parchments out of her robes and handing them to Mr. Malfoy.

“Delivered to my office this morning.” she showed them to him. “Letters from the board of directors, a pamphlet containing information on the school and its courses of study; they even sent me a very nice coffee mug that I have sitting on my desk right now. I would say everything is in order, wouldn’t you, Mr. Malfoy?

“And as you have mentioned before, Mr. Malfoy, I am the headmistress of one of the finest schools of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. So by the power vested in me," she annonced in a somewhat sarcastic tone, "I hereby declare this matter closed. Good day!”

Lucius Malfoy turned around in a huff and stormed past Harry and Ron.

“Good morning, Lucius,” smirked Ron, incapable of suppressing a laugh.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” he snapped.

“Shouldn’t you be in Azkaban?” retorted Harry.

Either Lucius Malfoy didn’t hear him or simply didn’t care, because he continued on his way, stomping against the dark stone floor. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, stayed where she was, looking completely exhausted from the conversation.

“Professor McGonagall…” Harry softly tried to get her attention.

“Oh, Harry!” gasped Professor McGonagall, jumping slightly as she spun around. “I didn’t even see you there. And Ron too, how are you both doing? And how are Ginny and Hermione?”

"Very well, thank you,” Harry answered. “Professor McGonagall, if you don’t mind me asking, what was that all about?”

Oh, it was nothing, really,” Professor McGonagall assured him. “Mr. Malfoy was simply throwing a temper tantrum over a certain aspect of the System’s Education Compensation Act that he doesn’t happen to agree with.”

“Excuse me, Professor,” Harry interjected. “The what?”

“I’m sorry,” Professor McGonagall apologized. “The System…well, think of it as a sort of International Wizarding Education Organization. They oversee various aspects and enforcements in international education. Hogwarts, luckily enough, as been able to avoid much of the scrutiny that the System is capable of handing out."

A proud, somewhat triumphant smile crossed Professor McGonagall's face as she paused for a moment.

"But meanwhile, the System has set their sights on the American Ministry of Magic and _their_ current problems. And the Education Compensation Act is a law that the System recently passed in the United States giving ‘certain’ young people in that country the opportunity to attend schools such as Hogwarts. Mr. Malfoy has been very involved in this movement. I suppose in his twisted mind, it’s some sort of good deed.”

“Why don’t they just go to schools in their own country?” Harry asked.

“Is there _even_ a school in America?" asked Ron.

“There has to be, Ron,” Harry said. “Don’t you remember at the Quidditch World Cup when we saw those witches from the Salem Witches' Institute?”

“I remember veelas…” Ron replied, sounding slightly guilty.

“Well, there is a problem with that, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall told him. “It's true, there are many fine educational facilities in the United States: the Salem Witches Institute, the Bell Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Hardscrabble Creek School of Magical Arts, the Kailani Shamanic Institute, but it is not these schools that are causing concern for the System."

"Well, what is it?" Harry asked, feeling as though he were going deeper than he truly wanted to go.

"Well, as you may already know, all young wizarding children are kept a very close eye on in the United States. When they are of age eleven, they are invited to attend the school they reside closest to. But also, just like in Britain, children are not _forced_ to attend these schools. Some wizarding children are taught at home, some students have families with connections overseas and are sent to school..., they have many options as far as their wizarding education goes. But it is the students that the System feels are in most need of supervision that are causing the concern. Students who have records that _prove_ they are irresponsible with their magic."

" _Criminal_ records?” Ron gulped.

"Some, yes," "Others are just labeled as 'people of interest', which can mean anything the American Ministy wants it to. Now, thanks to these new regulations, every little delinquent in the United States will become the problems of every school in Europe as well. Places of long histories and strong curriculums providing just the kind of stable environment the students need in order to reform and succeed."

It was becoming clear by the tone of Professor McGonagall's voice that she herself was not fan of these new regulations.

“But what was Mr. Malfoy so mad about?” asked Harry. “If he’s been involved from the beginning and this Act is becoming a reality, isn’t he getting exactly what he wants?”

“Well, a couple of weeks ago, Hogwarts recieved a letter sent to me personally before a professor could be sent as a liaison. I personally do not even know how Mr. Malfoy found out about it,” she told him, showing him the crumpled piece of notebook paper from before. “It’s a letter of intent to attend a school other than Hogwarts. The only problem is no one seems to have heard of the school.

"Another cause for concern is that this school has only invited the students under the juristiction of the Education Compensation Act, in other words, the young wizards records.."

Harry took the letter and held it up so Ron could read it too.

 

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I received your letter of invitation, and first of all, I would like to thank you for inviting me to your prestigious school of wizardry. I am honored that despite my somewhat questionable record you would still consider me as a student._

_However, I regret to inform you that I will not be joining you this fall. I am however, aware of the new standards imposed by both the System and the Ministry of Magic in regards to students in my particular situation. That is why I am hereby sending my letter of intent to attend the Skat-Hatokha Academy of Magic. Please refer any further questions on the subject of my future education to the board of directors: Mark Dewey, Patrick Cheatham, and Joseph Howe._

 

Below, written in completely different handwriting, a name was signed.

 

_Nathaniel Jacob Rivers_

 

“Look, it spells SHAM,” remarked Ron, amused, “S-H-A-M.”

“Where is this Skat...place?” asked Harry. He had never heard of it either.

“I don’t know, and quite frankly, Mr. Potter, I don’t care!” Professor McGonagall huffed. “These new regulations have professors flying all over creation, and most of us are not greeted with the warmest of welcomes. Professor Flitwick went to go speak with parents of a wizard in Texas, and was shot at three times!”

“Is all this legitimate?” asked Harry. “I mean, we don’t even enforce compulsory school for wizarding children in Britain. Can this System really enforce this kind of act?”

“ _Criminals_ , Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall emphasized. “Children who have been in trouble with the law before they are even old enough to drink. For the most part, it’s going to be an entire class of Potters!”

Harry could feel his face turn the slightest hint of red with that last remark.

“All this letter means to me," she continued, turning on her heels to walk away as she did, "is that young Mr. Rivers is no longer my concern.”

And with that, Professor McGonagall left Harry and Ron to finish their day, allowing them the belief that the matter was closed. But even as he and Ron continued on their way, Harry could not stop mulling the conversation over in his head. No matter how hard he tried, however, he could not shake it. It wasn't as though matters of international education would intersect with his career as an Auror, so these thoughts should have been as far as they could be from his mind. Emphasis on 'should have'.


	2. Chapter 2   Three Weeks Time

 

Chapter 2  
Three Weeks Time  
  
  
“Okay,” Harry thought to himself as he shifted through the papers on his desk, “Hurst can handle the MacDillard case, but I’ll be wanting to handle the Jeffrey investigation myself. Can Ron possibly finish out the details for the Keller paperwork without me? If he can, maybe I can get out early and take James to the park before it gets dark-”  
  
“Mr. Potter,” Harry heard the office secretary say as she stood in front of his desk. “Mr. Noble is asking for you.”  
  
“Mr. Noble?” Harry wondered, raising a suspicious eyebrow, “What does he want?”  
  
“I don’t know, Mr. Potter. I’m just the messenger,” she answered, waiting for Harry to follow her.  
  
As the secretary tapped her foot sharply against the floor, Harry put his papers in some degree of order and pushed himself away from the desk. Mr. Noble was Head of the Auror office with Harry in the position just under his. Normally Mr. Noble trusted Harry to handle matters in the office himself, and Harry had not seen him in person for nearly three months.  
  
When he was finally shown into the office, Harry was at the peak of his strain. Behind the desk sat Reginald Noble, a middle-aged, slightly balding wizard well past his prime for the undertaking of any of the missions Harry had come to think of as everyday regularities. A man who now spent his days in his rather plain, very dull office, thinking of his glory days, watching the clock and waiting for any form of distraction.  
  
Noticing Harry’s stiff stance, Mr. Noble offered a soft smile and gestured towards the chair in front of him.  
  
“Mr. Potter, please sit down.”  
  
Harry took the seat, but it did little to assuage his discomfort. Normally, whenever he had spoken to Mr. Noble before, the old man’s eyes would be unfocused and his tone trance-like, as though he were only half-conscious during the work day. But today, there was a distinct fervor in his expression, a type of excitement Harry did not know his boss was capable of possessing.  
  
“I hear Professor McGonagall has recently told you about the Education Compensation Act.”  
  
As Noble spoke, Harry noticed an open file resting on the desk. The pages were bent and ruffled as though the file had been read over and over again; certainly having been given much attention.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Harry answered, feeling himself take on the glazed, half gone expression that normally resided with Mr. Noble.  
  
“I have also been informed that you know of a letter sent by one...Nathaniel Rivers," he said, eyes darting over the file, "Residence...New York City.”  
  
“That is also true, sir,” Harry replied.  
  
“Well, then you probably also know that no one has heard of this school he claims he will be attending this fall,” he said, passing the folder to Harry.  
  
Again, Harry nodded, biting against his own cheek to keep himself from talking. In the past half-week, he had heard more about the state of American education than he felt he would ever need to know. Merlin forbid Mr. Noble actually worried about the stack of investigation on his desk that were taking place in Britain and under his jurisdiction.  
  
“And also, the only other students being offered acceptance at this school are only those who fall under the jurisdiction of the Education Compensation Act.”   
  
Harry nodded, not completely sure if he knew where this was going. He also began to wonder what was so interesting about that file that it had gotten so much attention in the past few days.  
  
“And that even though the Board of Directors at the Skat-Hatokha Academy of Magic has given numerous correspondences with Professor McGonagall, no one at Hogwarts or this office has been able to contact them.”  
  
“Mr. Noble,” Harry stopped him, “where is this conversation going?”  
  
“There are forces at work here, Mr. Potter. What type of forces, we are not yet sure,” Mr. Noble explained. “The way this is being viewed, is that this scenario can only end one of two ways. At the least of our worries, this school does not exist and we merely have a few students who are in on this little Skat…prank. But if that is not the case, then we have much greater worries about who is running this so called school on our hands.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Harry asked, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“Mr. Potter, the System is launching a formal investigation against this school, to see whether their suspicions have warrant,” Mr. Noble told him, that same fervor of excitement lacing his words. “I want you and your partner to personally investigate this school and make sure it has a sound foundation.”  
  
“What?” exclaimed Harry, forgetting all about his previous attempts to censor his words. “Mr. Noble, are you sure this is the type of thing our office should even be concerned with?”  
  
“The activities of possible dark wizards are not the concern of this office?” Mr. Noble asked with a curl of his lip. “Mr. Potter, do remember what office this is exactly?”  
  
“It’s the office of Aurors,” Harry answered. “But our job is to investigate dark wizards that we know are a threat, not to go chasing halfway around the world after faceless boogiemen!”  
  
“What I mean to say is,” Harry rephrased his words, “I have heard rumors of possible activity, but what I haven’t seen is any hard evidence that there is any. Are you sure you want to use extensive office resources on this matter just yet?”  
  
“Well, what would you suggest, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Noble asked, leaning back in his chair.  
  
“Why not only send a few investigators before the Ministry and the System launch a formal investigation,” Harry responded, even though he could feel his own words getting away from him, “That way, they can investigate these claims, report back to this office, and then the decision on whether to launch a formal investigation will have a much sounder foundation.”  
  
“Investigators such as yourself, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Noble asked, looking as though he were seeing the reason in Harry’s words.  
  
“If that would satisfy the System and all those involved.”  
  
Mr. Noble leaned back in his chain once again, twittling his fingers and considering Harry’s words.  
  
“Very well, Mr. Potter. I’ll humor you,” Mr. Noble agreed, “You will personally go to investigate the claims of the school, and personally speak with this Nathaniel Rivers. And if you tell me that everything is on the up and up, I’ll take your word for it.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Noble.”  
  
“But if you find one thing that even _hints_ of suspicious activity,” Mr. Noble warned, picking up a quill and pointing it in Harry’s direction, “then the previously proposed investigation is moving forward at full force. I won’t have it hitting the _Daily Prophet_ that an institute was suspected by the System, and I let it continue right under my nose.  
  
Harry nodded curtly, still trying to understand how he had gotten _himself_ into a matter he had been hoping to avoid entirely before.  
  
“Besides,” Noble added, making a few more notations on the file before Harry left the office, “that new partner of yours is still a little green around the gills. This will be a good first mission for him.”  
  
  


* * *

 

For the rest of the day, Harry just sat behind his desk, devoting all of his attention to the pile of paperwork that he had accumulated. It was all he could do to keep from taking his frustrations out on everyone he passed. Only he could have gone from knowing anything and not wanting to know nothing to becoming a Ministry-entrusted expert on the subject in the course of one conversation. It would have been easy to blame it on Lucius Malfoy, the paranoid System, Mr. Noble, or the girl who brought coffee every afternoon, but in the end, Harry knew that it was truly his own big mouth that had gotten him into this. Him _and_ Ron! Oh, would he be happy to hear about this new mission, on top of everything else he had been dealing with.

Speaking of which, Harry had to make sure to tell Ron all about this as soon as he got home. Wouldn’t Hermione be happy to hear this?

It was only when the work day ended that Harry finally began to feel some of his anger at his own stupidity subside. The mental image of both Ginny and James waiting for him at home was enough to lift even his darkest moods.

"I hear you will be taking a little bit of a trip soon, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned his head to see a very smug Lucius Malfoy standing behind him.

"What," Harry nearly growled, "do _you_ want?"

"Can I not wish a fond farewell to one of Britain's finest before he embarks on what could be a very dangerous mission?"

“Dangerous?” Harry snorted, “This load of tripe is costing the Ministry gold everyday by buying to the System’s inability to handle not being everyone’s Big Brother. And it is hardly helping that those who _should_ be voices of reason in this matter are only helping to fuel the paranoia fire.”

That last statement was said with a heavy emphasis toward Lucius Malfoy. And it was clear that he could tell by the way he pursed his lips together and tightened the grip on his cane.

"You may not think very much of me, Mr. Potter," Lucius admitted, "or of anyone else who may have been sorted into Slytherin. But my years there have taught me one thing: how to smell a rat. And if this Skat-Hatokha school really does turn out to be a legitimate educational facility...well, I think we both know the answer to that."

It was Harry's turn to remain silent. Not because he couldn't think of anything to say, but because he did not trust himself to filter whatever words might come to his mind.

"Enjoy New York, Mr. Potter." Lucius added as he turned away. "And please, do give my regards to Mrs. Potter."

Infuriated, both by Lucius' comment about Ginny and his exit before Harry could make an appropriately stinging reply, Harry stormed over to the fireplace to Floo, not even noticing two wizards he knocked into on his way there.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, while Ginny was putting James to bed in the nursery, Harry sat awake in bed, reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_ : a special copy that Ginny had had autographed by her entire team before her retirement. Even as he attempted to relax for the evening, he found himself only able to focus on a few sentences at a time.

He hadn't told Ginny about the events that had occurred that day at work. He tried to behave as though everything was completely normal; something that hadn't been easy since earlier that evening when Ginny informed him that he had spent seven minutes trying to cut his steak with a spoon.

“Alright!” Ginny stormed into the bedroom, hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

At first, Harry pretended he didn't know what his wife was talking about, but Ginny sank down on top of the red covers and glared into Harry's eyes with that intense stare of hers. And so, slowly, Harry began to unveil the events of the day.

“The Skat-Hatokha Academy of Magic,” Ginny remarked, her expression softening now that she had gotten what she wanted. “Well, trying to interfere with other people’s happiness definitely sounds like Lucius Malfoy. And don’t look at me, Harry. I spent my entire career trying to avoid the Ministry of Magic."

“It’s not Lucius and it’s not the Ministry that’s causing this giant headache,” Harry told Ginny as she sunk into bed next to him, “It’s the bloody System!”

“That’s what I said, Harry.”

“No, not the system of the British Ministry of Magic,” Harry explained, setting the book down. “The _System_ , that can’t stand not to know everything about a school three thousand miles away!”

Ginny frowned and allowed her chin to rest in the palm of her hand, not understanding.

“Well, from what you told me, if you hadn’t said anything, it would have just ended up being a _much bigger_ headache a little while from now.”

“I supposed,” Harry agreed.

“And that instead of only being away for few days, this mess may have consumed your days and possibly nights for what could be months.”

“That’s also true,” Harry acknowledged, being thankful for the fact that Ginny could make life seem so simple.

“So exactly how is this going to be any more painfully horrible than the work you would do on any other given day?”

Suddenly, a sharp cry from James’ nursery interrupted the conversation.

“I’ll take care of him,” Harry said, half reluctant to get out of bed, half happy to have the conversation be over.

“Trust me, Harry,” Ginny assured him as he left the bedroom. “All you’re really going to have to do is prove this Skat-Hatokha school _exists_ , and that’s the last we’ll hear of all this.”

 

* * *

  


* * *

 

_Three weeks earlier…_

 

“Okay, everybody line up for your graduation presents; we only have so much time.”

Under the smog of the Bronx, resting between businesses, skyscrapers, and streets upon streets, stood a square-shaped building of old brick and dirty windows. Surrounded by a blacktop and basketball courts that now rested quiet, there was an inner feeling of unrest as more than a thousand students took turns glancing at the clock, waiting for the bell to finally set them free for good. But inside one of the dingy classrooms, stood a line of anxious and somewhat confused middle school students waiting to stand in front of a camera.

“Okay, doll face. Say, ‘Legal’.”

“Legal!”

The Polaroid camera set up in front of the blackboard flashed and snapped before a small card ejected, being shaken a couple times by the photographer, Nate Rivers, before it began to develop.

“Beautiful! Next!”

To a stranger, Nate Rivers might have appeared to be no different than any other eighth grader one would pass on the street. Baggy skater clothes, too-long brown hair that should have been washed more often, and a smirk that simply went along with being fourteen years old. Someone the older generation might call the cops on for no apparent reason, but certainly not anyone dangerous.

In fact, upon first glance, Nate might appear average in every sense of the word. But that’s the funny thing about the word ‘might’…

“Alright, dude. Say ‘Cheers’.”

“Cheers!”

Another flash and snap, and another small card appeared out of the camera.

“Sweet! Okay, next!”

To anyone who knew him for more than five minutes, he was the scheming, smart-talking, always in trouble but rarely caught, self-proclaimed ‘Wizard of P.S. 141’. Well, soon to be ‘formerly’, anyway. Today was the last day of middle school and then literally everyone Nate had known growing up would be scattered to the four corners of New York City. And he had no intention of letting them go without a memento of him. Failing that, at least he would spread around the evidence if the worst came to worst.

Suddenly, there was a simultaneous jump among the students as the classroom door opened. An immediate sigh of relief followed when they saw it was only a chubby eighth grader sporting thick glasses and orthopedic shoes.

“Nate,” the boy called, pausing when he noticed the immense crowd. “Nate, what…the hell are you doing?”

“Hey, Graham, you’re just in time for your graduation present,” Nate smiled excitedly, changing direction and holding up the camera once again. "Say, ‘Bon voyage’!”

“Bon voyage?”

A split second later, the flash went off by itself.

“Ow! Why with the flash-” exclaimed Graham, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses.

“When you’re not blind anymore, I really think you’re gonna like what you see.” Nate told him, shoving something into his right hand.

“What the-” started Graham as his vision came back, taking turns looking between the fifteen-year-old camera his friend was holding and the perfect forgery of an _international passport_ that had just slipped out of it.

“Ain’t she a beauty, Graham?” Nate beamed, holding up his latest creation, and pointing to the results. “Go ahead, I dare you to find one mistake on that thing!”

“Another one, Nate?” Graham sighed, eyeing his friend’s latest mechanism for causing trouble.

“What can I say? I’ve been on a roll lately.” Nate shrugged. “And you can’t blame me for wanting to go out with a bang!”

Not that bringing a little toy like this to school was unusual for Nate. He was always having ideas popping into his head, mostly out of nowhere, and always ideas about how he could change something, be it how to make an eraser with a laser pointer or a pair of shoes play mp3s.

“And in order to do that, you decided to contribute to the delinquency of minors by inventing a camera that takes pictures in the form of fake IDs?”

“And possibly green cards,” Nate added, as though he thought his latest invention was being sold short. “I just haven’t figured out the word for that function.”

“Don’t you think people are all going to wonder how a camera they stopped making five years ago is printing out perfect copies of fake IDs?”

“ _Yo Quiero taco_!” Nate shouted at the camera, ignoring the question.

“NATE!” Graham shouted at the top of his lungs, “YOU KEEP THIS UP, AND EVENTUALLY, SOMEONE IS GOING TO FIGURE OUT YOU’RE A W-”

As soon as Nate sensed the W-word coming, he spun back around and clamped his hand over his friend’s mouth. Then offered a fake toothy smile to his onlookers and he and Graham shuffled backward, hiding the both of them under a pull-down map of New York State.

Once they were safe from gawking eyes, Nate let go of Graham and half-whispered, “What have I told about saying the izard-wei word in front of people!”

“But you’re using magic in front of-”

“Article 23-7 of the Department of Magic’s Decree of Non-Magical Artifact Modification states that magically-enhance objects may be used in the presence of those of non-magical status as long as the exterior of said object has not been tampered with and those of non-magical status remain uninformed of said object’s true nature.”

“You have that whole law memorized word for word but you can’t remember the capital is Albany?” Graham replied, exasperated, as he rolled the map back up with a snap.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell, buddy,” Nate replied, winking his one blue eye, which he called his ‘shifty eye’, “As long as they get what they’re paying for, no one’s gonna to care about the ‘how’.”

“Yeah, _students_ aren't going think anything strange is going on, but I don’t think an underpaid state employee will take the same attitude,” Graham reminded his friend, “Every day, the teachers take turns patrolling the empty classroom to make sure the students aren’t doing crack or having sex. How much worse of a reaction do you think they’re going to have on witchcraft?”

“Really?” asked Nate, his eyes beginning to widen just slightly. “Wow, that _would_ be bad!”

“Well, it’s going to happen in a few minutes, so what do you plan to do?”

“Okay, okay. Think, think,” Nate stammered, looking around the room and trying not to panic.

As his eyes raced, they kept falling on four things: the clock, the position of the door, a yellow backpack, and the backpack’s owner who was wearing a shirt just loose enough for this to work.

“Okay, here’s what we do. Um…Darcy, get over here; I got a job for you!”

 

* * *

 

“...and so, if you want to keep the boys and the girls off one another, you have to put the fear of God into them,” an older teacher told a younger one as they made their round through the hallway, coming closer and closer to the door Nate and all the others were waiting behind. “The problem today is that kids are looking at their bodies and not-”

Just then, a sharp series of bells broke through all possible conversation, followed by a calm that was so silent; every noise from every corner of the school could have been heard.

“Oh,my...God...” the older teacher said in a hushed tone.

A soft rumble gradually grew louder and louder and began to shake the very floors. Almost simultaneously, the classroom doors all along the hallway flew open, including one that hit the older teacher right in the face, knocking him backwards, and onto the floor. Out of the doors, a steady stream of students, just released from their long captivity, screamed, shouted, and ran for anything that could be presumed as an exit. The younger teacher stood as far away from it all as he could, back against the wall, eyes wide as though he was watching a stampede of wild animals.

Only when the flow of students had slowed to a trickle and the feats of wild destruction had moved to the floor below, did a horrified Graham and a satisfied Nate emerge from the classroom that would not see human life for another three months.

“Mr. Waxton, somehow, this is exactly how I envisioned the last time I would ever see you.” Nate smiled as he spoke in the mocking tone he saved exclusively for the teacher of his most hated subject. “And let me just say from the bottom of my heart, I’m really going to miss getting all those wrong answers in algebra class.”

“Shut up!” Mr. Waxton said, pointing a finger at Nate, but still flat on his back. “Go home. Never come back here!”

Nate shrugged his shoulders, but kept that same smile, “Sounds good to me. C’mon Graham, time waits for no one!”

“Good-bye, Mr. Jenkins,” Graham said quickly to the younger teacher, who taught advanced English, a class Nate never even imagined setting foot in.

The last student out of the classroom, following a few steps behind Nate and Graham, was a girl with curly brown hair and a green striped shirt stretched very tightly over her swollen stomach.

“What did I tell you,” Mr. Waxton practically shouted, pointing at Darcy as she followed Nate around the corner. “Damned teenagers!”

“Relax, Morton,” Nate heard the younger teacher say after they were already out of sight. “She’s the high school’s problem now.”

Nate was leaning leisurely against the peeling paint of the lockers when Darcy caught up to them, the sly look of someone who had just defeated “the man” plastered all over her face. Nate sauntered over to the girl, giving her a high five as a show for three passing teachers. As soon as they had disappeared, she reached behind her back and Nate heard two buckles snap before Darcy’s yellow backpack dropped out from under her shirt and into his waiting hands.

“Thanks Darcy,” Nate said, yanking one of the zippers and pulling his camera out of the bag. “I owe you one.”

“Well, I know how you can repay me.” Darcy smiled coyly, pointing to Nate’s left pocket.

“Fine.” Nate sighed and shook his head, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a driver's license that identified Darcy as nineteen-year-old Yolanda Foster, of Providence, Rhode Island.

“Here you go,” he said as he pushed the card into her hand. “Go to Florida and marry what’s-his-name.”

Darcy smiled and skipped off with unconcealed joy while Nate dropped the camera strap onto his neck.

“Nate, do you have any idea how close you just came to being exposed?”

“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

Nate listened to the first few words of Graham’s lecture of everything bad that could have happened, mostly the legal ramifications of fake IDs, before he began to ignore him completely.

Graham was much too nervous a person for Nate's taste, but Nate also knew he wasn’t really in a position to be picky about who would put up with him, and even less to whom he could reveal his wizarding nature. One of the reasons Graham made such a perfect person to involve in Nate's crazy schemes was because he didn’t _have_ anyone to tell. He was a tall kid, a chubby kid; he had pimples, the wrong clothes, the wrong shoes, and two dads. In short, Nate felt nothing less than amazement that Graham was picked on the way he was, and still had lived to see graduation. But through the thick of it, Graham had been a loyal friend to him and had kept his secret since they started middle school.

“…and they’ll take you away to where they’re hiding the Roswell aliens and the little mermaid!”

“God, _now_ you sound like Lorelei!”

Now Lorelei was a different story entirely. Lorelei Macalister was Nate’s oldest and probably dearest friend who had been born suspicious of the world. And like Nate, she also had powers that always seemed to get her into trouble; although her talents were more geared toward _breaking_ things. Lorelei didn’t have many friends either, but that was by her own design.

To most people, Lorelei Macalister was a cold, calculating, soulless child with less compassion and empathy than Hannibal Lecter. But she seemed nice enough when she was around Nate, even if she wasn’t remotely pleasant to anyone else. Another upside was Lorelei went to St. Vincent’s Catholic School in Manhattan, so she was never there to look down her nose on most of the things Nate did.

“Well, maybe if I _were_ Lorelei, you would actually listen to me for a change!”

“Damn locker always sticks!” Nate grumbled as he yanked on the door with all his strength. “I'm beginning to think you’re right; it _is_ the skateboard.”

“Nate,” Graham tried again, his voice an inch away from pleading. “It’s just that you’re a really good friend, not to mention the whole freaky powers thing is pretty cool; I just don’t want to see you become a convict before you’re old enough to get a driver’s license.”

“Dude, what would make you think I’m ever going to be sent away anywhere?”

With one final tug that sent Nate himself tumbling backwards onto the tile floor, his locker finally opened, which today, could have been a mixed blessing. At least seventy letters written on heavy parchment spilled out of his locker and spread all the way to the opposite side of the hallway. On any other day, people might have stared, but today was the last day of school and nobody cared about anybody.

“Oh, goodie!” Nate groaned, rolling his eyes over the letters that had spilled onto his lap. “More of them.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Dear Mr. Rivers,_ ” Graham read aloud, in an empty science classroom. “ _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In keeping with new sanctions set forth by the System_ -”

“Give me that!” interrupted Nate as he tried to snatch the letter away so he could add it to the garbage bag full of letters he had already ripped up.

“- _all young American witches and wizards of your current legal standing are required to provide for themselves an education meeting the standards of the_ -”

“I said ‘Gimmee’!” Nate repeated loudly, jumping at his friend.

“ _Failure to do so,_ ” shouted Graham as he struggled to finish, “ _will be considered tantamount to truancy and will be met with serious consequences_!”

“Gotcha!” Nate shouted when he finally snatched the letter from Graham’s hand.

“Uh, Nate,” said Graham, eyeing the about-ready-to-burst garbage bag Nate had been stuffing his torn letters into. “How many of these letters have you gotten so far?”

“I stopped counting after a hundred thirty-six.” he responded, tearing up the last three.

“And…you _still_ think it’s just someone pulling your leg?”

“It _has_ to be,” he laughed, pulling the very first letter that he had gotten out of the side pocket of his backpack, holding up the envelope for Graham to read. “I mean, seriously, _Hogwarts_? That sounds made up!”

“It just seems like a lot of work for someone to go through just to pull a practical joke on you.”

“Yup,” Nate agreed, rising to his feet, garbage bag hoisted over one shoulder, skateboard and helmet tucked under the other arm. “You coming or what?”

“I’m serious, Nate!” Graham warned as he lagged behind. “What if this isn’t a hoax and someone somewhere is getting really, _really_ pissed off?”

“Don’t worry, dude,” Nate insisted, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s no way I’m leaving you to face the demons of high school alone.”

“Not to mention leaving Alaia Grace,” Graham responded, pointing towards the staircase and toward a pretty blonde girl that seemed to glow among her friends.

Nate couldn’t suppress a goofy smile; a reaction most boys at P.S. 141 got whenever they heard those two blessed words. Even with her back to them, Nate could recognize her shape anywhere. The girl had shiny hair, perfect eyes, and a dazzling smile. Simply put, Alaia Grace was easily the prettiest girl in their school, maybe even the city.

On top of that, she was a preacher’s stepdaughter: a perfect, obedient little girl who would never hang out with the _wrong_ crowd, making her untouchable for the better part of her middle school years and all the more desirable. Especially to Nate and anyone who employed his ‘services’.

But this year, after seven years of ignoring him, Alaia had started trying to be friendly with him. Not just friendly with him... _flirting_ with him. If Nate even truly understood what flirting was. So to make things even better, now she was a preacher’s stepdaughter going bad! Well, not quite, but still, Nate wanted her so badly!

She had even invited him to her family’s church a few times at the insistence of her stepfather. Strangely, every time he went, the sermon would always be about ‘deliverance from witchcraft’. But Nate could sit through an hour of hearing about how his flesh was going to burn if he could spend it sitting next to the current object of his affection.

“Nate!” Alaia smiled upon noticing him, leaving her friends and running over.

“Be cool.” Nate muttered to Graham under his breath.

“Sure, this from the kid who once faked an ulcer to get out of an oral report!”

“Nate, hi!” smiled Alaia when she finally approached the two of them.

“Hey, Alaia,” he stammered while at the same time trying to keep his cool. “Say, you know Graham Schuler, don’t you?”

“Um, no, I don’t think I do.”

“Sure you do,” Nate reminded her, oblivious to Graham's growing embarrassment. “He was one of the kids who reenacted that scene from Macbeth in a spacey theme for the talent show. He was the main character”

“Oh, yeah! Now I remember,” Alaia remarked as Graham’s face grew redder and redder. “You were booed off the stage!”

“That I was,” Graham smiled through clenched teeth.

“But anyway, Nate,” Alaia turned her attention back to him. “My youth group is having a barbeque tonight to celebrate the last day of school and I was wondering if you wanted to come.

“It’s not an obligation to join the church or anything,” she quickly added. “I just though it’d be more fun if _you_ were there.”

“Oh, I'd love to, but I actually promised my friend Lorelei I’d check in with her tonight,” Nate remorsefully answered. “You remember her, don’t you: Lorelei Macalister?”

“Oh, yes,” Alaia replied, becoming very uneasy at the mention of the name. “How _is_ she these days?”

Nate didn’t really blame Alaia for her attitude. He had taken Lorelei with him to the church once, but she had been in a terrible mood from the moment she had walked through the doors. It didn’t exactly help that in that day’s sermon, Reverend Grace also castigated the ‘Catholic pagans’. As soon as the sermon started, Lorelei stormed like an angry animal out the sanctuary doors, but not before the platform under the minister _mysteriously_ caved in under him. Secretly, Nate thought Alaia was the real object behind Lorelei's anger; and Lorelei was just _looking_ for an excuse to break something.

Lorelei and Alaia's occasions of seeing each other were rare after that. Nate made sure to plan it that way. This jealousy was a new aspect of Lorelei's personality and he did not want it to manifest itself very often.

“So,” Alaia asked, changing the subject. “What's in the bag?”

“Confetti,” Nate answered quickly, almost fearfully. “You know, to celebrate the last day here.”

“Mind if I have a handful?” Alaia asked, extending her hand. “To celebrate the last day here, I mean.”

“Sure,” said Nate, opening the bag and praying he tore the letters into small enough pieces.”

“Thanks,” said Alaia, taking her confetti and turning around. “I’ll see you this summer”

Nate watched wide-eyed as Alaia skipped away, over to the stairwell, and let the torn letters fly with a girlish giggle.

“She so digs me,” Nate said, mostly to himself, once he and Graham began to make their way outside.

“Gotta admit,” Graham agreed as he pushed the heavy front doors open. “I wouldn’t want to leave that behind either.”

“Now I just have to ask her out on a real date,” Nate said as he fastened his helmet buckle, while at the same time, maintaining a firm hold on his skateboard.

“And make sure Lorelei doesn’t snap her neck before the date.”

Nate might have laughed along with that joke if he didn’t know there was a chance that Lorelei was actually capable of something like that.

“Well, see ya when I see ya!” Nate shouted over his shoulder as he balanced himself on his board and gave himself a kicking start, leaving the rest of the confetti for Graham to enjoy.

As Nate rolled and swerved down the cracked sidewalk, he began to think. He had lied to Graham before. True, he really hadn’t ever heard of this Hogwarts place, but it wasn’t as though magic schools themselves were made up. He knew for a fact there were magic schools in the United States, because there had once been a time when he had been invited to one: the Hardscrabble Creek School of Magical Arts. It was the exact same school that his older brother had gone to.

But even as an eleven year old, Nate had been dead set against going, an idea that thoroughly shocked his parents and everyone else who had been planning for this. Nate had been an adventurous boy from the time he could crawl, and he had certainly displayed a natural talent for magic. His whole family had believed Nate would be counting the days until he could hold his first wand, be among other wizarding children, and finally joined his own kind.

But from the day the letter came in the mail, Nate had flat out refused to leave, threatening to weld himself to a traffic light if anyone tried to force him. At the time, his main excuse was that he would be separated from Lorelei, whose letter came from the Salem Witches Institute, an all-girls school. His parents tried to change his mind, even pull some strings to see if Hardscrabble Creek would accept Lorelei too: a plan which might have worked if Lorelei wasn’t so stubbornly refusing to attend any magic school, anywhere. Her father accused her of being contrary and weak-willed, and Lorelei responded by shattering every window in the house in three seconds flat.

His parents tried to persuade Nate, telling him about how much more exciting a wizard school would be than a middle school, his brother warned him he was signing his own warrant to the life of a Squib, but either way, there was no law that could force any child to go to wizard school. So come that September, Nate was enrolled in P.S. 144 and Lorelei stayed at her old school in Manhattan: magically-gifted Squibs, Nate’s brother called them, but magically-gifted Squibs who had gotten their own way.

Nate didn’t tell his parents at the time, but he _knew_ he couldn’t leave for this school. Even all the persuasion from his parents and stories from his older brother could not shake the inner command to stay where he was. But now, it hardly seemed to matter that he hadn’t chosen to go. And besides, now he had many friends who knew nothing of his powers or that magic even existed. He couldn’t even envision his life if he chosen to enclose himself in the world of magic and cut himself off from the world he had grown up in.

Life just seemed much simpler when magic didn’t seem to be a big deal.

 

* * *

 

Nate’s townhouse stood on West 252nd Street, just on the boundary between the true city and the true suburbs. Nate’s parents had always been New Yorkers at heart, but while they didn’t want to resign themselves to the life of suburbia that most of Riverdale had experienced, they didn’t want Nate to spend his school years being plagued by drug dealers and prostitutes either.

Besides, it was also the one place in New York where the rules of so-called normalcy was scattered to the winds. The Donavan family had about twelve of the biggest, ugliest cats Nate had ever seen: cats who seemed able to tell whether or not Nate was smuggling anything in his backpack on any given day. And then there was Ms. Yao, who had people coming and going at all hours of the night: people who showed up in the strangest outfits.

But the neighborhood's whole arrangement worked for Nate, too. No one called the police if they heard loud explosions coming from his bedroom at three in the morning, or even that time he tried to create a purer form of Pixie Stick that got mixed in with the lawn fertilizer and turned the grass purple for a week. Nate wasn't sure if any of his strange neighbors were wizards too; but if they were, it certainly explained a lot.

Before making his way up the stoop, Nate stopped by the mailbox. It contained a heavy load of letters today, but now that school was over, he wouldn’t have to spend any time sifting for letters about him.

When Nate opened the front door, the phone was already ringing. Setting the letters down on a nearby end table, he checked the caller ID and smiled: Macalister Residence. Sometimes, it seemed like Lorelei knew Nate better than he knew himself.

“Hey, Lore.”

“Nate, did you _just_ get out of school?” Lorelei voice resonated clearly over the phone line.

“Yeah, I stayed late at school,” Nate told her, turning back to the door to turn and snap the four sets of locks.

“You were hanging out with the stripper again, weren’t you?” she asked, not trying to hide her disdain.

Nate laughed at Lorelei’s latest nickname for Alaia, but had learned from experience it was better not to mention her when they were talking.

“No, I was printing fake IDs as graduation presents.”

“You’re going to get arrested someday,” she warned in that tired-sounding voice of hers.

“Been there, done that, Lore,” Nate told her, picking up the stack of mail he had just set down, “Say, your last day of school was today too, right? Think you can make it down to 5th Street Theater? Word has it, the night manager doesn’t believe in the ratings system.”

“Can’t,” Lorelei answered, just a hint of anger creeping into her voice. “Delia’s got an all-night gig at some jazz club in Chelsea, so I’m on baby-sitting duty.”

Nate let out a deep sigh, knowing Lorelei was going to use the next five or ten minutes to vent all the borderline rage she was feeling. And Delia, her ‘so-called mother’ as she put it, was one of her favorite subjects. Nate had learned he could get through this time with the occasional “uh-huh” and “nuh” while focusing his mind on something else.

Today, it was looking through his parents’ mail: electric bill, credit card bill, wedding invitation for some person he had never heard of, another credit card bill, a late birthday card from his grandmother with clearly no money in it, something sent from the middle school that he would hide and claim to be lost…

“You got anymore of those letters today?”

It took Nate a couple of seconds to remember what Lorelei was talking about.

“Yeah, I had like seventy shoved in my locker after last bell,” he told her, taking a break from sorting through the actual mail.

“And what did you do with _those_?”

“Last day of middle school confetti.”

“Of course you did,” Lorelei answered, a slight grimness in her voice. “God forbid you should actually find out who’s killing the rainforest to send you these letters.”

“Uh, make that seventy-one,” Nate interrupted, setting the remaining mail on the hall table. “I got another one in today's mail.”

“Wow, the _mail_ ,” Lorelei replied with sarcastic shock, “They’re not even trying anymore, are they?”

“Cool, this one’s red.” he said, tearing the envelope open. “But, hey, if you can’t get out of the house tonight, that’s cool. Maybe we can just order pizza and watch pay-per-view; as long as it isn’t one of those gay chick fli-”

“ _ **NATHANIEL RIVERS,** ” the letter literally shouted._

_Nate tumbled backward onto the floor as though he’d been shot. He could not believe what was happing. A letter, a _piece of paper_ , was floating in mid-air, actually shouting at him!_

_“ _ **AS OF TODAY, HOGWARTS HAS SENT YOU MORE THAN TWO HUNDRED LETTERS AND YOU HAVE EITHER IGNORED THEM, DESTROYED THEM, OR, IN ONE INSTANCE, DONATED THEM TO THE HOMELESS!** ”__

__“ _How does she know that_?” Nate panicked to himself. “ _Wait, why am I calling it a she? It’s a freakin’ letter_!”_ _

__“ _ **ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, NATHANIEL?** ”__ _

___“Yes, ma’am.”_ _ _

___“ _ **YOU MAY THINK THAT JUST BECAUSE YOUR ACTIONS AS OF YET HAVE HAD NO REAL CONSEQUENCES, THAT IT IS PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE FOR YOU AND ALL YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS TO RUN WILD, BUT YOU ARE SADLY MISTAKEN, YOUNG MAN! THE NEW TERM STARTS ON SEPTEMBER FIRST AND YOU WILL EITHER SHOW UP WILLINGLY, OR WE WILL SEND SOMEONE TO TAKE YOU, TO COIN THE PHRASE, KICKING AND SCREAMING!** ”__ _ _

____As soon as the letter stopped shouting, it hovered in mid-air for a moment before it began to burn to ash from the edges inward right in front of Nate, who was still sprawled out on the floor._ _ _ _

____“Nate!” he heard Lorelei shout from the phone, “Nate, are you okay? What’s happening?”_ _ _ _

____Nate took a moment to catch his breath. His hands and calves had carpet burns, the remaining letters had been scattered all over the floor, the phone out of which his best friend was still screaming was in the middle, and there was a faint smell of smoke in the air._ _ _ _

____Finally pulling himself together, Nate reached for the phone again, feeling his hand shake as he did._ _ _ _

____“Hey, Lore,” he said weakly._ _ _ _

____“Nate, what’s going on over there? Who was that lady screaming at you?”_ _ _ _

____“So is that a yes to hanging at your place tonight?”  
_ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3 Bernie's 24-Hour Waffle Hut

 

Chapter 3  
Bernie’s 24-Hour Waffle Hut

 “OW!” screamed Ron, sucking on his injured index finger.

 “How does a man stab himself with his own tie pin?” Harry wondered to himself. “ _Five_ times!”

 That next morning, instead of reporting to their usual duties of shuffling paperwork and maybe one mission run to somewhere in Britain, Harry and Ron had locked themselves in an empty cupboard while they changed into their Muggle disguises. Well, actually, it was only Ron who was still trying to get dressed. Harry sat off to the side, looking over the file that had already been given so much attention by Mr. Noble just yesterday.

 The file, itself, was only a copy that had been sent by owl post. The original remained with the American Ministry of Magic. However, even with the plethora of information at his fingertips, Harry spent most of his time looking at the boy’s picture. It was a black and white shot of an unmoving boy that gave the overall effect of a school portrait. Harry was not sure he had actually expected the American government to send him a mug shot of a minor, but at the same time, it was an unnerving idea to investigate this boy with what he had as his first mental picture of him.

“Hermione says she’ll be at your house as soon as she finishes work tonight,” Ron said as he struggled with his tie, growing more and more frustrated as his fingers got caught in the knot. “She says she and Ginny will probably have a girls’ night in.”

 “Why does Hermione want to stay over with Ginny?” Harry asked, buttoning the suit he wore as his Muggle disguise. It had taken Harry a lot less time to get his clothes in order than it was taking Ron.

 “I asked her to,” Ron gave up and threw the tie to the ground. “She seems to be getting worse these days. Last night for dinner, she made spaghetti with maple syrup in the sauce, and she had three helpings!”

 “And what exactly do you think she’s sick with?” Harry asked, fighting to suppress the urge to laugh. This was beginning to sound quite similar to an ‘illness’ Ginny had about two years ago.

 “I still don’t know!” Ron shouted, angrier at the world than at Harry. “And every time I bring up the subject of a Healer, she either becomes the “I hate you, Ron” woman, or the “What if I’m dying” woman!”  
 “Shame on Hermione for putting Ron through the loop like this,” Harry though to himself. Harry knew his friend, and even through all that she was going through, there might still be a little desire behind all this just to watch Ron squirm.

 But at the same time, Harry had put a lot of trust in what Mr. Noble and Ginny had told him. That this mission would one of the shorter ones he had ever experienced. Spend maybe an hour at the British Wizarding Embassy, three hours looking for Nathaniel Rives, an hour of questioning to prove nothing out of the ordinary was going on, and he would be home before it was time to tuck James in.

 “How are we going to be getting there?” Ron asked.

 “Floo network,” he answered. “If we Apparate and someone mistakes it for a gun, we could have a bid problem on our hands.”

 “Good thinking!” Ron agreed.

 Walking through the Ministry halls, Harry vaguely thought Ron might be skipping. He was convinced that this would be one of the most exciting missions of their career; not just some half-bit upper level favor to a man they both despised. Nevertheless, making a promise to himself that he would not rain on his best friend’s parade, Harry continued to smile and nod right along with Ron.

 “Do want to go first, or should I?”

 “I’m sorry; what?” said Harry, trying to bring himself back to the present.

 “The Floo Network,” Ron repeated. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

 “Um, you go ahead, Ron.” Harry gestured towards the fireplace.

 “British Wizarding Embassy, New York City,” Ron shouted, before he became enveloped in the green flames.

 Before stepping into the fireplace himself, Harry took a moment to look at his pocket watch. It was two o’clock now, and Ginny normally put James down for bed at eight. This gave him less than six hours to track down their target, question him about his school for a half hour at the most, and then Apparate back home. The whole mission seemed simple enough when he thought about it as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and ducked into the fireplace.

 “Six hours,” he reminded himself quietly.

 Feeling a few sifts of powder slipped through his fingers; Harry threw the rest to the ground with a rather unnecessary amount of force.

 “British Wizarding Embassy, New York City, “Harry shouted, shutting his eyes against the ash and heat.

*****  
*****

 “Not a hoax, Lore,” Nate panicked as he paced across his best friend’s bedroom floor, “Not a hoax! VERY, VERY much not a hoax!”

 Lorelei traced her fingers through the fragmented piece, her lips pressing tight together, and her mouth twisting into an odd sort of grimace. She still hadn't changed out of her school uniform or even kicked off the Mary Janes she vocally despised. In fact, she had yet to say anything about her own opinions or what she intended to do.

 Lorelei was what Nate’s mother called a “classic beauty”. Nate always assumed that meant she looked like a living, breathing black and white photograph. Lorelei had always had a pale, almost sickly looking completion, even though he had never known her to be ill a day in her life. Her face was unmarked by freckles or childhood scars and held a permanent look of suspicion. She also had dark gray eyes surrounded by tired dark circles and black hair that laid thick and sleek like seal fur.

 Nate and Lorelei had known each other since before they could talk. In fact, the reason their parents were friends was because Nate and Lorelei had been adopted from the same agency. And Nate’s parents especially thought it would be _so_ cute if the two of them fell in love, got married, and had a lot of little witches and wizards running around causing random acts of destruction. An idea that Nate and Lorelei actively resisted. They had known each other for so long, they almost felt like brother and sister. Even though Nate’s parents assured them that there was no possible way they were related to each other, the idea of it all still made them cringe.

 “So the letter…” she began, as though not sure of her own words “SPOKE to you?”

 “Not spoke, screamed,” Nate corrected, becoming even more frantic. “It _KNEW_ things about me.”

 Lorelei shrugged. “I guess this means they really mean business now.”

 “How can you talk like that?” Nate practically screamed, “Some stranger is going to come and haul me out of my own house come September! What do you plan to do about that?”

 “Maybe you just haven’t been keeping a low enough profile,” Lorelei offered. “Like this afternoon for instance.”

 “ _Me_ ,” Nate stopped her. “You’re the one who once destroyed a confessional at your school because you didn’t want to tell the priest you said the f-word!”

 “Ha,” laughed Lorelei. “If you’re going to call me out, at least make it a challenge. On the first day of fifth grade, you decided to build a jet pack out of a fire extinguisher and fly it around at recess because you thought it would be ‘badass’!”

 “Oh, c’mon, that invention didn’t even work,” Nate replied, even though it pained him to admit. “The first time you used magic, you knocked a man to the ground and broke both of his legs!”

 “Well _you_ have a criminal record!”

 “The fact that you just haven’t been caught yet does not make you any better than me!” Nate shouted at his best friend, who he secretly believed should have been diagnosed as a sociopath by now.

 “Your mom and dad are going to flip!”

 “I know, I know,” Nate answered, beginning to pace again, “Just give me some time, and maybe I can explain it in a way they’ll understand.”

*****

 “I don’t really understand, Nate,” his father said a supper the next night. “You told us three years ago if we made you go to the school that accepted you, you were going to chain yourself to the top of a traffic light.”

 “I don’t understand either,” his mother agreed. “Exactly where is all this coming from?”

 Saying Nate’s parents were understanding when it came to matters of magic was probably the understatement of the century. After the birth of their first son, Carter, whom Nate had heard some people call a Muggle-born, whatever that was. Mr. and Mrs. Rivers made it a personal mission to learn everything they could about magic and the world in which their son would have to grow up. They even adopted Nate, knowing from the beginning, he would be a wizard too.

But even they were having trouble understanding why suddenly, out of the blue, Nate wanted to be shipped off to a wizard boarding school in Scotland, despite all they knew about magic. Especially since Nate had already fought and refused to go to a much closer school exactly like this three years ago.

 The only person in the room who seemed to be at the most remotest sense of ease was Lorelei, joining the Rivers family for dinner, as she had on many occasions. Tonight, she sat across from Nate, cutting her pork chop into small pieces and biting her cheek as she watched Nate’s ridiculous plan unfold.

 “Well, you see, Dad,” Nate tried to spin. “Hogwarts really is one of the best schools for wizardry in the world. They only seek the people who they think have the greatest potential.”  
   
 Nate pulled the one Hogwarts letter he had left out of his pocket and passed it to his parents.

 “So really, being asked to go to school here is actually quite an honor. And I know you guys are always worrying about my future as a wizard.”

 “But what’s all this 'failure to do so business',” asked Malcolm Rivers, a slightly balding man who dressed far too young for his age, “When a school invites you to attend because they want you, don’t the usually beg instead of threaten?”

 “And no offence, Nate,” added his wife, Jillian, who dyed her hair bright red in an attempt to hide the growing amount of gray, “but you don’t really seem to be the type to be invited to a prestigious school. Don’t get me wrong, I think your inventions are something special, it’s just that you yourself are…”

 “Lazy, unmotivated,” Lorelei filled in the blank as she cut her green beans, “a wise ass, a C+ student at best-”

 “We get it, Lore,” Nate interrupted, a little irked at his friend's contribution to the conversation.

 “But, Nate,” his father tried to explain, “you _can_ understand our confusion. I mean, for all the many, many students for them to pick for and for them to choose you; it just seems-”

 “Well, you know what, Dad? Maybe they’re not _giving_ me a choice!” Nate finally erupted.

 Lorelei half-choked on her milk.

 The boxy-shaped dining room fell silent for what seemed like an eternity.

 “What are you saying, Nate?” his mother finally asked.

 “They’re…” Nate sighed, “They’re giving you guys until the end of August to send me yourselves before they send someone to get me.”

 Nate’s parents were still silent, as if they were still trying to wrap their heads around what their son was trying to tell them.

 “But…surely you have other options,” his mother argued, “I mean, they’re not making Lorelei go.”

 “Because _I’m_ not a criminal.” she reminded them, bluntly.

 Mr. Rivers groaned; the family did not like to be reminded that if Nate _hadn’t_ been tried by the Department of Magic, he would be a convicted felon at the age of fourteen.

 “I knew that whole business was going to come back to bite us in the ass one day!”

 “Oh, Lord,” exclaimed Mrs. Rivers, racing to another subject. “What are Walter and Delia going to say when they find out?”

 At the last comment, Lorelei gave a snicker that went unheard by Nate’s parents. Walter and Delia were Lorelei’s adoptive parents, who had divorced when she was ten, just before she had moved out of Riverdale and into the East Village. Walter Macalister lived somewhere in Boston now, and would throw however much alimony it took to pretend his children didn’t exist. And Delia Macalister: Nate wasn’t a hundred percent aware she even noticed what was going on half the time, be it all the “unusual” things that happened around her two daughters, or the electricity being shut off.

 “Maybe we can call Carter,” suggested his mother. “Ask him what our options are! I mean, he works right in there with the Department of Magic, and if he can’t pull a few strings for us-”

 “Mom, it’s not just the Department of Magic that’s ordering this,” Nate interrupted before his mother could be too swept up in the idea. “It’s also this…System thing that’s helping to make this law reality. _They’re_ the ones packing all the guns in the enforcement part. And between taking on us and taking on the Big Brother of the wizarding world, who do you think the Department’s going to choose?”

 At these last words from her son, Mrs. Rivers’ eye began to well, her mascara just on the verge of running, and gasping to hold back the sobs.

 “I’m going to go call your brother,” she said tearfully, excusing herself from the table.

 “Way to go,” Lorelei told him, looking down at her plate.

 “Well, I don’t care what these people are telling you, Nate,” said his father, pushing himself away from the table, “You’re _my_ son; and I’m not just handing you over to a bunch of strangers.”

 Soon enough, Nate and Lorelei were left alone with a table full of food and that terrible silence returning. With a sigh of desperation, Nate let his head drop to the hard surface of the table.

 “I told you it wouldn’t work,” Lorelei remarked, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

 “Shut up!” Nate shouted, forehead still flat against the table.

*****  
*****

 The first that Harry was aware of when he emerged from the fireplace was a sharp pain at the very top of his head. The next thing that drifted into his awareness was the sound of Ron groaning right next to him. Then, for some reason, the pointed end of a shoe prodding him in the back and a distant sounding voice from above speaking to him.

 “No one told you they wax the floors in the morning, did they?

 Looking up, Harry saw the silhouette of a woman holding a paper bag in one hand, a Styrofoam coffee cup in the other, tapping the foot that had poked him.

 “Are we going to be getting up any time soon?” she asked them, pointing her chin towards Ron, who, from the looks of the soot trailing across the floor, had crashed head-first into the marble fountain and now lay sprawled out, groaning and clutching at the top of his head.

 Even though he was not quite sure of his balance, Harry pulled himself to his feet and walked over to Ron to give him a hand up. After about three attempts, Ron was finally able to stand on his own, even though one hand still remained rubbing his aching skull.

 “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,” the woman extended her hand to both of them. “It is very nice to meet you. My name is Vanessa Montoya, Internal Affairs for the American Department of Magic. Let me just say it is a pleasure to meet both of you.”

 “Thank you, Ms. Montoya,” Ron said, shaking her hand and still rubbing his head. “You look lovely this morning.”

 “Mr. Weasley,” Vanessa answered shortly, as though Ron had just insulted her. “I had to wake up at four in the morning, drive clear across the Bronx, and come in before the janitors just to play your baby-sitter. You _really_ don’t want to push me today.”

 Harry blinked and shook his head. _That_ was certainly unexpected. It was not as though it was a lie. With her long, dark hair, dark eyes, and soft features, she was quite pretty. Even though her personality and attitude were anything but soft. Harry made a quick mental note not to tell any woman in this country that she looked nice.

 “I’m in a bit of a hurry today,” she told them curtly, “so if you don’t mind, let’s walk and talk.”

 Without waiting for an answer, Vanessa Montoya spun and began to walk at a rapid pace, her heels clicking sharply against the freshly waxed floor. Getting the impression that she was not going to wait up for them, Harry and Ron followed after her, Ron having some difficulties keeping up.

 “Ms. Montoya,” Harry began, making sure to keep his words strictly business, “I assume that if you’re here, you already know why we are here.”

 “Yes, I have been well briefed on the investigation, and let me assure you, you have the Department’s full cooperation in whatever matters you may need.”

 While Vanessa spoke, she didn’t turn around to make eye contact. Her eyes remained directly on the path in front of her. Eventually, they reached a set of black, metal staircase that didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the Embassy’s polished decor.

 “How is it no one in the Department thought to investigate this school?” Harry asked hoping to get as much information as he could from Vanessa while they still had time.

 Once again, Vanessa sighed as though she herself had been insulted. “You have to understand, the government does try to keep tab on the accreditation status of the schools our nation’s children attend. But most magic schools in the United States operate in the private sector, and if an institution is not supported by tax dollars, we have relatively little say in where a school opens or what it teaches.

 “There are no standards whatsoever?” Harry asked, feeling somewhat shocked after all the influence the Ministry had had over his own education.

 “Of course, we have guidelines for a school’s accreditation,” Vanessa answered, quickening her pace up the stairs. “But in reality, all a school needs to be accredited in this country is a facility, a curriculum, and a faculty. I’m sure you’ve been told about the four other major schools for magic in our country?”

 “Salem, Bell, Hardscrabble Creek,” Harry recited, “and…Kailani, correct?”

 “Yes, those are our four largest schools, but they are not our only ones,” Vanessa told him. “In some areas of the country, smaller day schools for magic are popping up faster than we can keep track of them.

 “I suppose that is why the Education Division hasn’t bothered to investigate this Skat-Hatokha school you were talking about.” Vanessa confessed. “We just assumed it was another day school wanting to keep the international government out of its business.”

 “You really think so?” Harry asked.

 “It’s much simpler to believe that someone out there is actually crazy enough to round up every uneducated juvie in the country and stick them in a room together.”

 Finally, they climbed the last flight of stairs to reach a locked, steel door. Through the tiny barred window, Harry could see the streetlights were still on and the sun was just barely peeking over the skyline.

 “What time is it here?” Ron asked, making note of how empty the building was.

 “Five in the morning,” Vanessa told them, placing her hands on their shoulders. “And that being said, I wish you both the best of luck.”

 And with that, she gave Ron and Harry a somewhat violent shove out the door before she slammed it shut.

 “Maybe she’s just not a morning person?” Ron suggested as he heard the lock snap back into place.

 “Sure,” Harry nodded halfheartedly. “We’ll go with that.”

 Right now, Harry was looking at the exterior of the Embassy itself. The fading bricks seemed old as New York, the building itself was covered with graffiti, and nearly every window on the upper level was broken and yellow with age. Muggle tourists and locals alike could stare and stare at this building, and never know of the magical liaison office operated just a few floors down.

 “So,” Ron said, breaking the silence. “No one is bound to be up for hours. What are we supposed to do in the mean time?”

 It was at that moment, Harry noticed something in the breast pocket of his jacket. It was a small business card for a restaurant with handwriting on the back that had to belong to Vanessa. She must have slipped it into his pocket when her hand was on his shoulder…just before she pushed him out into the alley.

 “There’s a known hub right near here that’s supposed to cater to wizards who are from out of the country, according to this,” Harry struggled to read the somewhat smudged ink. “They also serve breakfast.”

 “Wonderful!” Ron winced, still rubbing his head. That must have been quite a collision. “Which way is it?”

 Unbeknownst to them however, hiding behind a trashcan, sat a man in rags, rubbing his eyes and refusing to believe he just saw two British men in fine suits appear out of a condemned building.

 “That’s it,” he shouted, tossing an amber bottle over his shoulder and against the brick wall. “I’m officially back on the wagon!”

*****

 The known hub of underground magic in New York City, better known to the public as Bernie’s 24-Hour Waffle Hut, hardly seemed to be a hub of any kind. In fact, it was near empty, except for a cook at the counter and a black girl wearing a waitress’ uniform sitting at one of the booths with a steaming plate of waffles in front of her, a dirty coffee cup in her hands, and what appeared to be a chemistry book left off to the side, ignored.

 The bells above the door chimed as Ron and Harry walked inside. Other than a second long glance given to them by the cook, they were otherwise nearly ignored. The black girl now set her coffee cup down, watching them intently, as though she expected something to happen. Harry and Ron walked forward; her eyes followed them. They walked off to the left: her eyes followed them there, too.

 Feeling somewhat disturbed by the constant stare, he led Ron to the counter so they could sit with their back to her.

 “So where do we begin?” asked Ron, turning his spinning stool from side to side.

 “This file has everything we need to know on the student who sent Professor McGonagall that letter,” Harry said, pulling the papers out from his coat and flipping them open. “It would do us good to do some reading up before we go looking for him ourselves.”

  
Legal Name: Nathaniel Jacob Rivers  
Nickname/Aliases: Nate, the Wizard of P.S. 144  
DOB:  March 3, 1991 (Santa Barbara, CA)  
Hair Color: Brown  
Eye Color: Mixed  
Distinguishable Marks: None  
Immediate Family: Father: Malcolm Rivers (51); Mother: Jillian Rivers (49);   
Brother: Carter Rivers (23)  
Blood Status: Unknown  
Current Residence: 285 West 252nd St. Riverdale, Bronx County, New York City, NY  
Current School and Expected Date of Graduation: P.S. 144, 2010

**Criminal Offences:**

**1) 10/04/04: Grand Theft Auto by use of Magic; Underage Driver, Magic in the presence of a person of Non-Magical Status**  
Arresting Officer: Agent Carter Rivers  
Sentence: Probation

**Current Legal Status: On Probation until March 3, 2010**  
Likelihood to Reoffend: High  
Known Associates:  
 Lorelei Augustine Macalister  Status: Witch  
 Graham Phineas Schuler  Status: Non-magical  
 Alaia Bianca Grace   Status: Non-magical  
  
 

   
 Harry soon became aware of a shadow over the file. Looking up, he saw the cook standing over them, hair oiled down under a paper hat, an apron that looked too clean for someone who worked in a restaurant, and a big toothy smile.

 “Um, I’m sorry, sir,” Harry told the man trying to go away. “My friend and I aren’t quite ready to order yet.”

 “Welcome to Bernie’s 24-Hour Waffle Hut,” the cook said in a voice that, despite the large smile, was completely devoid of emotion, “For daily specials, please read the white board and our friendly waiting staff will be more than happy to take your order.”

 “Excuse me?” Harry said to the man who spoke to him, but seemed to stare right through him.

 “We accept all major credit cards, but no out-of-state checks.”

 “Sir, are you okay?” Ron asked, sensing too that something was not right.

 “Ma’am, we do not have fat free waffles and screaming at me is not going to make them magically appear on the menu.”

 “He can’t understand what you’re saying,” a flat voice from behind said. “He can’t even understand what _he’s_ saying.”

 Harry and Ron both spun around to see the black waitress who had been staring at them before; hands at her sides and an expression compressed of both annoyance and boredom. In her uniform pocket, Harry noticed a wand poking out: longer and thinner than he was used to seeing, but still unmistakable in shape.

 “Ricardo,” the girl ordered, leaning forward on the counter, sliding the wand out of her apron pocket “Ricardo, look at me!”

 The cook remained motionless, but turned his head towards the waitress, a blank look in his eyes and that same cheesy smile on his face.

 “We have two customers who would each like the number three special,” she said slowly while gliding her wand in front of his eyes.

 “We have two customers who would each like the number three special,” Ricardo repeated word for word.

 Harry and Ron watched in silence as the girl said the mantra that the cook repeated. It all sounded very much rehearsed and well practiced. Harry wondered how it was possible for a girl who seemed to be a civilian.

 “And Chantal has another hour left on her break,” she continued, still tracing her wand in front of the cook’s face.

 “And Chantal has another hour left on her break.”

 Ricardo the cook spun around on one foot and marched back to the kitchen. After he was gone, the waitress, Chantal, took a few moments to shake her head and mutter to herself. Her self-imposed rant covered every topic from ‘useless cooks’ to ‘retarded customers’ and even ‘shoddy Chinese uniform’.

 “And now you will brew her a fresh cup of coffee because she’s been here since three in the morning, staring at the bums and the hookers,” she suddenly remembered, shouting back into the kitchen

 “And now I will brew her a fresh cup of coffee because she’s been here since three in the morning, staring at the bums and the hookers,” Ricardo shouted back, even though he could not be seen.

 Finally, the waitress looked up and turned towards Harry and Ron as though she had just noticed they were there.

 “Hello,” she told them in voice that seemed devoid of any real welcome, gesturing back towards her booth. “Have a seat. We should probably talk.”

 Without waiting for an answer, Chantal made her way back towards her booth. Unsure of how else to respond to this girl, Harry and Ron followed her across the dingy tile floor.

 “Excuse me, miss,” Ron tried to say. “Maybe you could-”

 “How about some coffee?” she asked, detouring behind the busboy station to grab two extra cups. “I order the bottomless urn, so it’s not like you’d be imposing or anything.”

 “Look, miss,” Harry said more firmly, “my friend and I really aren’t here for social reasons. We just need a quiet place to work.”

 “This place is not Unplottable,” Chantal hissed, keeping a fake-sugar smile on her face as though she expected them to be interrupted. “No cloaking charms, no nothing to keep anyone without magic from coming in. They can and they do come in here, all the time. And we never know when, so just take the _damn_ coffee cups and shut the hell up!”

 And with that, the girl shoved the cups quite viciously into Ron and Harry’s hands. Harry was even sure he heard Ron yelp.

 “Now let’s have a seat and chat for a while, shall we?” she spoke in a voice dripping with fake sweetness that matched her smile.

 “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, miss,” Ron began as he slid into the booth. “Your cook…”

 “Ricardo’s a golem,” Chantal answered reclining back against the vinyl seat and putting her feet up, “Mr. Goldman, the owner, made him to work the graveyard shift. He has clay for a body and old pastrami sandwich for a brain. So you can imagine what wonderful company he is.”

 Once Harry and Ron were both sitting across from her, Chantal took a quick glance at the surrounding windows, pulled her breakfast plate closer to her, and took on a very business-like expression.

 “Okay, I suppose first things first,” she said, wiping her fork with a napkin. “My name is Chantal.”

 “Well, hello Chantal. My name is Harry Po-”

 “Please, no last names,” she stopped him, pointing the fork directly in Harry’s face. “It’s not good in my line of work.”

 Harry felt his voice get stuck in his throat. With everything that had happened since he and Ron enter this place, he was sure whether to trust Chantal or be terrified of her.

 “So your name is Harry,” Chantal continued to point with her silverware “And yours is…”

 “Ron.”

 “Wonderful,” she breathed with what might be construed as a smile. “Now that we all know each other, we can get down to the really conversation. For example, what are you doing here?”

 With that question, all the previous politeness that that had lingered on Chantal’s voice dissipated and become her true, blade-like tone that she had been masking until now.

 “Ron and I are both Aurors, and, not that anyone in your position has the right to ask, we are here on official Ministry-”

 “New Zealand.”

 Harry stopped and watched Chantal mash her waffles and maple syrup into a soggy mess.

 “Excuse me?”

 “New Zealand,” Chantal repeated, taking a bite from the section of the waffle she had not yet destroyed. “You two are from New Zealand, right?”

 “No, Britain.” Harry corrected.

 “Damn, I was sure by now I had these accents memorized.

 “We’ve told you who we are, young lady,” Harry said, trying as hard as he could to keep his calm, business-like demure “Now maybe you can tell us why you-”

 “Don’t call me ‘young lady’!” Chantal snapped, looking as though she had just been extremely offended. “I’m eighteen years old, and you have, what, five years on me? And I work for the Department of Magic too, so don’t you get all high and mighty with me!”

 “The Department of Magic?” Ron question: he had not been included in Chantal’s rant up until now.

 “Your country calls it the Ministry of Magic,” Chantal explained, beginning to calm down just a little. “Department of Magic, Secretary of Magic, they’re all basically the same things you have back in England. I personally think they all just come up with different names for things just to annoy everyone.”

 Harry was shocked. This girl was so young, and she was already employed as a foreign liaison for her country’s Ministry. It was also easy to see why she had been so offended by their tone with her before.

 “So you _aren’t_ a waitress,” Ron reasoned, his voice mixed with apologetics and surprise “You’re an ambassador to foreign wizards who come through here.”

 “Ambassador?” Chantal laughed. “For ten bucks an hour? I’m more like a glorified tour guide. By the way, I don’t give tour, and I’m technically not even required to leave this booth.”

 “But essentially,” Harry asked, “you just sit here all day and watch for the witches and wizards that might come in here?”

 “No,” she answered, cutting her waffle into smaller pieces. “Just from three in the morning until seven. Then I go to school and Franco comes in and takes a shift.”

 While immersed in the conversation, no one at the table even noticed when Ricardo came until he set the plate down with a loud clang, causing everyone to jump. Nevertheless, Ricardo kept the same smile on his face, truly unaware of his surroundings.

 “Coffee,” Ricardo said as he held the steaming cup in front of Chantal.

 Thanks, Ricardo.” She smiled and breathed deep the aroma.

 “Coffee,” Ricardo repeated, like a tape player that was stuck.

 Chantal groaned and took out her wand, yet again, waving it in front of Ricardo’s eyes.

 “You will go away now,” she ordered.

 “I will go away now,” Ricardo repeated, once again spinning on one foot.

 Ricardo might have made it back into the kitchen, if the counter had not been in his way. But instead of moving to the side where the counter was open, he simply back up and walked into the counter once again. Again and again, Ricardo bumped into the counter, back up and bumped into the counter again. Chantal sighed, but allowed Ricardo to carry on as she stirred cream and sweetener into her coffee.

 “He’ll do that for about an hour,” Chantal chuckled. “It’s actually kinda funny.”

 Again, Ron and Harry were silent. If this girl’s sense of humour was based on the suffering of others, they could still not be a hundred percent sure of what to make of her.

 “But as the Bernie’s 24-Hour Waffle Hut’s sitting person,” she began, once again in a very much rehearsed tone, “one of the things I am required to do is leave you with a few words of what I believe is helpful advice.”

 Harry and Ron leaned close so that they would catch every word.

 “If you pass someone on the street that’s rambling about witches and dragons, but wear clothes you wouldn’t even use to scrub your bathroom floor, don’t stop and talk to them. They’re not real wizards.”

 Harry gave a little laughing snort. This girl was obviously used to dealing with purebloods. However, he looked to his side and saw Ron nodding and taking in every word.

 “If you need ‘supplies’ while you’re here, you’ll find a bunch of stores anywhere that _say_ they sell the real thing, but if you go up to the counter and ask, ‘Do you have any items of interest? I’m looking to buy’ they’ll let you in let you in the back where they keep the real stuff. You might have to use Alohomora if the owners are especially paranoid.

 “And lastly,” Chantal finished as she took a long sip of her fresh coffee, “if you ever find yourselves in trouble or in need, just come back here. I can’t guarantee it will be me, but someone from the Department is always hanging out here.

 “Are we good?” she asked the both of them.

 Harry and Ron both nodded their heads, more out of wanting to leave than in agreement.

 “Good,” smiled Chantal, reaching for her previously ignored chemistry book. “Now get out of here! I have an exam in four hours, and tonight’s the first night I’ve even opened the book.”

 Harry could have lectured her about her study habits; he _knew_ Hermione would have. But having seen Chantal’s previous temper, Harry and Ron silently agreed it would be better just to go.

 Halfway to the door, Harry turned around and noticed Ricardo still attempting to walk through the very solid counter.

 “Shouldn’t we do something about Ricardo?” Harry asked, pointing to the cook.

 “Eh, let Chantal do it,” Ron answered as he pushed the door open. “It’s what she’s barely paid for.”

*****  
*****

 “We’re totally screwed.” Lorelei sighed, sprawled out upside down on Nate’s bed.

 “Maybe we can think of some kind of disability that can get me out of going,” suggested Nate, momentarily stopping spinning in his chair.

 “And what kind of disability would that be?”

 “I really, _really_ hate tea!”

 Lorelei snorted and let her arms drop dramatically over the side of the bed.

 “We’re totally screwed!” she repeated once again.

 Nate swiveled the chair from side to side and wondered were this whole "we" talk was coming from. _He_ was the one who was being sent halfway around the world. Lorelei would lose him, but everything else would stay exactly the same for her. But he didn’t want to think about leaving his best friend anymore. Thinking about anything that had to do with those letters was just too depressing.

 This was exactly how it had been; days later, Nate and Lorelei were still racking their brains trying to figure out what to do. Nate’s middle school graduation had come and gone yesterday afternoon. Lorelei had been there with his parents, but no one really felt like celebrating. For everyone, it just served as another reminder that very soon, some British stranger would come breaking down the door to drag him off.

 Nate’s parents had tried to talk to his older brother, but he wasn’t home, and he wasn’t answering his phone. Besides, everyone knew the System was next to useless in reality. They didn’t even know Nate _existed_ until he was arrested, and he was pretty sure they knew nothing about Lorelei, or her little sister, Rae, who also had magic. There was nothing they could do to you as long as they could prove you existed. It really didn’t take a lot of effort to stay off the grid, so it figured Nate would blow it.

 Nate was soon distracted from his own racing thoughts by a tapping sound at the window above his bed. This even got Lorelei’s attention, but she pushed herself up, let loose a scream, and fell to the floor. Nate jump out of the chair and over his now cranky friend to see what happened. Outside his window, there was an owl. An _OWL_ flying around New York City, with an envelope in its mouth, pecking the glass.  
   
 Against what might have been better judgment, Nate lifted the window open, only for the owl to swoop in and land on his dresser, shaking the evening mist from its feathers.

 “Go away!” Lorelei ordered, waving her arms at the scruffy-looking bird.

 Nate instead approached the bird, in a cautious, but almost casual manner. He reached up, having to wrestle somewhat, and took the letter from the owl.

 “What is it?” his friend asked, in a quiet, inquisitive voice.

He turned back to Lorelei and, with a puzzled look on his face, began to read the letter aloud.


	4. Chapter 4 Deception, Sleep Deprivation, and Dropping Dead

 

Chapter 4  
Deception, Sleep Deprivation, and Dropping Dead  
  
  
“The Skat-Hatokha Academy of Magic?” exclaimed Graham, both eyebrows raised. “You do know that makes your school _sham_ , right? S-H-A-M.”  
  
“Hey, I didn’t name it,” shrugged Nate, leaning against the stoop rail. “But whatever I _did_ do, it worked. It’s been almost a month and not one letter!”  
  
It was the third week of June, and all of New York was in summer mode. The Riverdale scenery had shifted to images of kids playing ball in the street while hotdog vendors and ice cream trucks shouted over one another for business. A broken fire hydrant sprayed over the sidewalk while Lorelei’s little sister, Rae, splashed water at five other kindergartners.  
  
And about every other stoop on the street was littered with bored teenagers sprawled out on the steps, looking as though they were five minutes from death. And the stoop in front of Graham’s house was no different. Graham downed soda, can after can, which were beginning to stack into a pyramid. Lorelei fanned herself with this morning’s edition of the _Village Voice_ , and Nate on the very bottom step, pushed his skateboard back and forth with his right foot, debating whether or not to actually ride it.  
  
Nate’s shifting thoughts were soon interrupted by soaking wet, little munchkin crawling over him in an attempt to get to Lorelei.  
  
“Hey, watch it, Short Stack!” he protested, wiping the water drops from his shorts before they could soak into the fabric. “If I want to get wet, don’t you think I would have run into that fire hydrant right after you?”  
  
She turned around and stared at Nate with large, honey-colored eyes. Her expression was one of quiet thoughtfulness that was almost never seen on a child her age. She stared as though she couldn’t quite tell whether he was teasing her or if he was serious.  
  
“Oh, so you’re ignoring me _again_ today?” he teased.  
  
At that last statement, the little girl threw her head back and laughed an almost cackling laugh, her hair clinging around her face in dirty blonde strings.  
  
“Rae, get back here,” Lorelei ordered softly as she proceeded to dry her little sister’s hair.  
  
Rae Macalister always reminded Nate of the creepy little kids that always appeared in bad horror movies. She was small for her age, much too quiet, and he was certain that she was aware of a lot more than she was letting on. Whenever he told this to Lorelei, though, she would remind him that Rae was a witch too, and being a scary little kid simply went along with the territory. She would also argue that he should be used to Rae by now anyway, since Lorelei took her pretty much everywhere she went.  
  
This was the one part of the sisters’ relationship that Nate found odd. Lorelei and Rae were the exact number of year apart that Nate and his own brother, Carter, were; yet he could see absolutely no resemblance between the two sets of siblings. Before Carter had moved out, he could remember the two of them fighting, getting each other in trouble, and constantly telling one another to stay out of their business: what Nate considered to be a normal relationship between siblings. Lorelei, however, seemed to behave more like Rae’s mother than her older sister. She would walk her to and from school, make sure she had clothes, food, and everything else little kids were supposed to have. Lorelei would even take Rae with her most times when she left the house because she didn’t trust her own mother to watch her. It had been like that for years…  
  
Who could say? Maybe it was a girl thing.  
  
“Ice cream cake or pizza?” Graham asked suddenly, breaking Nate away from his thoughts.  
  
“For what?” Nate wrinkled his nose. “Breakfast?”  
  
“No, Nate,” Graham reiterated. “Which one do you want for your good-bye party?”  
  
“What good-bye party?”  
  
“Well, for you,” Graham clarified. “You see, in most cultures, when a friend leaves home for an extended period of time, those close to him throw a party to remember all the good times they had together. You _are_ leaving for a new school this fall, right?”  
  
At this, Lorelei gave a smug laugh.  
  
“No, he’s not,” she interrupted as she wrapped a towel around her little sister.  
  
“What?” Graham turned his attention towards Lorelei’s step, confused.  
  
“Nate’s not actually going to go this school,” Lorelei explained condescendingly, as though Graham were an idiot for not having figured it out for himself. “He’s letting these people think he is, so the wheels of bureaucracy can continue to turn without anyone noticing. But his brilliant plan took about five minutes for him to come up with, so I’m still not sure how it will work.”  
  
As with every long-winded explanation that came out of Lorelei’s mouth, a long moment of deathly silence was shared among all those who heard it.  
  
“You’re really not going?” Graham finally said.  
  
“Nope,” Nate answered plainly, as though they were talking about any boring subject.  
  
“So, Nate, have you told your parents that you’re not leaving the country after all?” asked Graham.  
  
This was followed by even more silence. The background noise from streets carried an almost eerie echo.  
  
“No, not yet. I haven’t quite figured out how to explain all this away,” he replied, shifting himself up. “I feel kinda bad. Dad’s been calling everyone he can think of, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard my mom crying at night.”  
  
“Well, if you feel so bad, why don’t you just tell them to stop worrying?” asked Lorelei, allowing Rae to settle on her lap. “Or at least just tell your mom so she’ll stop being sad.”  
  
“Because as soon as I do, Mom will tell Dad, and Dad will tell Carter, and Carter will be on my ass like white on the KKK.”  
  
Once again, Lorelei laughed, but with a more sincere sound to it.  
  
“Yeah, that tends to be the problem with trying to screw with the government.” Lorelei smirked “It’s not the kind of thing you can keep quiet.”  
  
“Oh, yeah; then why haven’t you told your parents about Skat-Hatokha yet, Lore? You’re just as much a part of all this!”  
  
“Please, Nate! Delia wouldn’t notice if I shaved my head and showed up at the breakfast table chanting ‘ _Hare Krishna_ ’!”  
  
“Who’s joining the Hare Krishna’s?” a light voice asked from off to the side.  
  
Nate swiftly turned his head when he recognized the voice. Sure enough, Alaia Grace stood leaning the railing, standing quietly as though she had been there all along, and relaxed, as though she believed she was as much a part of the group as anyone of them.  
  
“Your mother is,” Lorelei answered sharply, but without even making eye contact.  
  
Alaia scowled slightly in Lorelei direction, chewing on a piece of her hair. But after she realized Lorelei wasn’t going to notice her, she turn her attention to someone who most certainly would.  
  
“I can’t believe how slow summer is going,” Alaia mused. “Why is it we always end up looking forward to school again?”  
  
Nate nodded and laughed nervously. He then felt a sharp kick in his spine followed a disgusted sounding snort from Lorelei. It was no secret that she didn’t care for Alaia or the way she made Nate act. Alaia was beginning to notice this, and although she was very good at not showing it, Nate felt as though she relished in Lorelei’s spiteful feelings.  
  
Suddenly, Rae’s ears perks at the sound of ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ coming from down the street. Within minutes, a painfully white van plastered with Popsicle stickers appeared on the street. It had to stop every few feet, however, for every crowd of kids that ran in front of it.  
  
“Ice cream truck’s here!” Alaia jumped to her feet, seeming more excited than Rae did. “My dad finally gave me my baby-sitting money before I left the house, so I’ll go buy us some treats.”  
  
Once Alaia was out of earshot, Lorelei finally decided to speak up.  
  
“Remind me why we’re letting the stripper hang out with us.”  
  
“Stop calling her that!” Nate shouted in a tone that he rarely used on his best friend. “Alaia’s _not_ a stripper”  
  
“She _named_ after one!” Lorelei shouted back, proving she was just as capable of fighting as Nate was. “And her mother-”  
  
“SHUT UP!” Nate yelled, startling everyone around him. Lorelei shut her mouth and clamped her jaw tightly. As soon as Nate saw his friend’s expression, he knew he made a mistake in his words.  
  
“You just don’t like her because of that bit her stepdad did about the ‘Catholic pagans’,” he laughed it off, as though he had been kidding the whole time.  
  
Lorelei’s expression softened somewhat, but still remained cross as she glared at him. It was clear that she needed some time to cool off. Nate stood up, jumped onto his skateboard, and kicked down the sidewalk.  
  
“Hey, Nate, where ya going?” Graham asked as his friend hopped on his skateboard, “  
As Nate sped down the sidewalk, he shouted an answer that caused Lorelei to wrinkle her nose and brow so deeply, Nate saw the expression even as she became smaller and smaller.  
  
“Lovely, Nate,” called a disgusted Lorelei, while drying off her little sister’s hair. Nate waved back to her, and even waved to Alaia as he rode past her.  
  
  


* * *

 

* * *

  
  
  
“…he’d probably be around fourteen years old,” Ron explained to the man behind the hotdog cart. “He has brown hair. He may have been a customer of yours…”  
  
While his friend tried to force every bit of broken English he could out of the hotdog salesman, Harry watched the crowds of children running up and down the street, searching for anyone who vaguely fit the description of the boy known as Nathaniel Rivers.  
  
How hard could it be to find one fourteen-year-old felon? Normally everyone made it their business to know the neighborhood criminal at every moment of the day. Yet no one they had spoken to seemed to even know who Nathaniel Rivers _was_. None of the vendors spoke fluent English, most of the children they spoke to ran away from them, and everyone else they spoke with just laughed at their accents.  
  
“Who is it that you’re looking for?” a light voice asked them.  
  
To their left, just finishing trading several fistfuls of change for a half dozen ice cream bars, was a young girl. Her heart-shaped face was framed by styled blonde hair, and bright blue eyes looked over to them in a type of innocent trust. She was the first person they met who expressed an honest interest in helping them.  
  
“I’m sorry, miss,” Harry clarified, to make sure she would be an honest lead. “What is that you are saying?”  
  
“Well, I’m fourteen, and I know pretty much most of the kids my age from this neighborhood,” she explained to him. “So if you told me who you’re looking for, maybe I know him.”  
  
“That’s very sweet of you, miss,” Harry answered. “The boy we’re looking for is named Rivers. Do you know anyone with that name?”  
  
A funny little expression took over the girls face. One corner of her mouth turned up and her eyes looked upwards, as though she were looking for the answer to be spelled out in the clouds.  
  
“Rivers?” she repeated, as the puzzled look on her face took on one of sudden recognition. “Oh, Nate! You must mean Nate.”  
  
“Yes, Nate.” Harry nodded, relieved that they may have finally found a true lead. “Can you tell me where he is?”  
  
“No problem,” she chirped. “He just left for the waffle restaurant down the street.”  
  
“Bernie’s?”  
  
The waffle restaurant that served as a meeting place for the wizards of the city? Harry could almost kick himself as he thought about how much easier life would have been if he and Ron had just stayed there drinking coffee and eating waffles with Chantal.  
  
“That’s the one!” Alaia smiled at him. “If you leave now, he’ll probably still be there.”  
  
“Thank you, miss,” he told her.  
  
“You’re welcome!” she shouted back at him as she left them.  
  
“Chipper little thing, isn’t she?” said Ron, as the girl skipped down the pavement.  
  
Harry and Ron raced back down the sidewalk. They pushed their way through the crowds of children and flowing fire hydrants, making the journey that had taken them five hours just this morning in about fifteen minutes.  
  
Bernie’s was more or less the same as it had been when he and Ron had first been there. There were a few more waitresses now, and after the cook tried handing out his number to a young woman at the counter, he was fairly sure he was human. A few of the booths were crowded with customers, and several of the stools were occupied, but the restaurant could hardly be considered bustling.  
  
Harry scanned over the heads of everyone breathing in the building, searching for anyone who vaguely resembled the poor quality photograph he and Ron had been given at the Ministry. The first booth was filled with women, the next booth held an old man with a walker off to the side, and the family in the third booth spoke Korean. At the counter, all the occupants were male, but were either too old or too young to be Nate Rivers. And the cook at the counter was over forty, over weight, and had a beard, so he _clearly_ was not Nate Rivers.  
  
“Alright,” the cook called out as he began stacking plates on the counter. “I have a number three with strawberries and whipped cream…”  
  
“Mine,” a waitress with graying hair that seemed to be lacquered into place called out, reaching out to balance the plate with a waiting hand.  
  
“…Irish platter with an Irish coffee…”  
  
“Mine also,” she answered, reaching for the plate with the other hand.  
  
“…and one root beer float, brick style.”  
  
“Over here, Franco,” someone called from an alcove towards the back of the restaurant.  
  
Harry and Ron turned just in time to see the teenage owner of the voice race to the counter, in between them to one of the unoccupied stools.  
  
“And, Rivers,” the cook told him as he handed him the ice cream drink. “You’re still three weeks late on paying your tab!”  
  
“Bite me, Franco!” he retorted in a tone one might use in pleasant conversation.  
  
Rivers? The one they had been running around all morning looking for? And now within thirty seconds of arriving at the restaurant, he came right up to them. The boy stirred the melting ice cream with a straw and slurped at the drink loudly. There couldn’t be that many Rivers boys running around in one neighborhood.  
  
“Excuse me,” said Harry, approaching the boy slowly. “Might you be Nathaniel Rivers?”  
  
“Who ‘ants ‘a know?” the boy asked before taking a huge gulp.  
  
“My name is Harry Potter, and this is my friend, Ron Weasley. We are both Aurors from the Ministry of Magic.”  
  
“Say wha’?” remarked Nate, raising one of his eyebrows.   
  
“I’m sorry. We’ve come here to talk to about a school that is currently under Ministry investigation. One that we’ve recently been informed that you plan to be attending this autumn”  
  
At that explanation, Nate grabbed hold of the counter and spun around, still holding the drink in his hand. When he made eye contact with Harry, he noticed that Nate had one bright brown eye and one blue. It had a very startling effect when Harry first saw it, and it took a moment for him to shift back into the conversation.   
  
“You see, Mr. Rivers,” Harry took a seat on the stool next to Nate, trying to make the conversation seem a lot more casual to the watching restaurant patrons, “a lot of American student who fall under the new Education Compensation Act have received letters from this school, the Skat-Hatokha Academy of Magic. The only problem is that no one seems to have heard of it, and we just need to ask you a few routine quest-”  
  
Harry’s words, though, were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the ice cream glass crashing against the tile floor. The broken shards and leftover remains of the drink scattered all around Nate’s sandaled feet, but he didn’t even seem to notice as his breath quickened and his hands began to shake. In fact, he was starting to look quite literally ill.  
  
“Mr. Rivers,” Harry asked him. “Are you feeling alright?”  
  
Still, not a word was spoken on Nate Rivers’ part.  
  
“Didn’t you hear me, Nate?” Harry tried again. “I asked if you were alrigh-”  
  
“YOU’RE NOT TAKING ME ALIVE!” he shouted, throwing himself from the stool onto the floor, loosing his footing on the way down and sprawling out across the dirty tile. But once on solid ground, Nate pushed himself to his feet and ran for the door.  
  
 _Oh no, you don’t!_ Harry thought to himself as he pointed his concealed wand. He had already wasted enough time on this frivolous mission; he would be damned him this Rivers boy dragged this out any longer than need be.  
  
With a wordless spell, Nate feel forward once again, this time sprawling across a round table in the middle of the floor, sending the family’s breakfast down to the floor with him. The father’s eyes first went down to Nate, who had just pulled himself back up to his knees, his face covered with maple syrup. But the, without a moments hesitations, the fathers eyes flashed straight towards Harry and the sleeve concealing his wand. It was becoming abundantly clear that this man was not one of those Muggles who simply wandered into the wizards’ restaurant, especially when he pulled a wand of his own.  
  
While Harry tried to calm the hot-tempered man, trying to quell the growing levels of chaos, Nate, although dazed, realize the wonderful opportunity to escape. Only he forgot that from the inside of Bernie’s, you needed to _pull_ the door open, and ran face first into the steal doorframe. He doubled back, swearing and sputtering as the blood poured from his nose. The other restaurant patrons found the situation hilarious. Harry might have thought so too, if the behavior didn’t seem so bizarre. Nate Rivers was not under arrest, or wanted for questioning or otherwise.  
  
Seeing no alternative, Harry and Ron followed after him, remembering to _pull_ the door open. Being completely surrounded by Muggles, using magic to catch up with the boy was simply not an option, especially given the gigantic gap between them. Having already gotten a vast head start, despite his injuries, Nate only continued to run farther and farther out of their line of vision. After running for two city blocks, he had completely vanished from sight, but still Harry and Ron ran forward until they had run out of breath, sprawled over and gasping on the sidewalk.  
  
“Okay, my turn!” A familiar, light voice caused Harry to turn to his left, towards a townhouse stoop.  
  
Sprawled out on the steps, were three kids who looked to be about Nate’s age, and a wet, little girl who couldn’t have been more than five. He recognized one of the older children as the blonde girl from before who had pointed him and Ron in Nate’s direction. The other two consisted of a tall, chubby boy with clothes much too warm for the weather, and a sour-faced girl with black hair who was drying the little girl’s hair with a beach towel.  
  
“Okay,” the chubby boy said, tapping the blonde girl on the shoulder. “Would you rather…bite the head off a live tarantula or let a three-year-old pierce your lip?”  
  
“One of those genius three-year-olds?” the blonde girl asked, chewing on her index nail.  
  
“Nope, normal three-year-old.”  
  
“Can he use professional equipment or are we just giving him a nail we found on the street?”  
  
“Hmm,” the boy thought to himself, trying to decide on what would be fair. “They can use the piercing gun, but no antiseptic.”  
  
“This is idiotic,” the black-haired girl grumbled, mostly to herself.  
  
Harry almost found himself laughing at the game the kids were playing, and also felt himself relax. They already knew this blonde girl was Nate’s friend; he would surely speak to her again. All he and Ron would have to do was find her again and enquire as to his whereabouts.  
  
Talking a break from the disgusting word game, the blonde girl stood up on her step and hung over the right side of the stoop, peering down behind a stack of garbage cans.  
  
“Has the bleeding stopped yet?” she asked over the side of the railing.  
  
Before Harry could fully process what she said, Nate Rivers sprung out from his hiding place and out into the busy street, cars honking as he raced through traffic. While running, he turned his head to measure the distance between him and Ron and Harry. Dried blood streaked across his face and he gulped for every breath.  
  
“Should we make sure he’s okay?” asked the blonde.  
  
“After ice cream,” answered the girl with black hair, taking an actual bite out of her vanilla bar.  
  


* * *

 

* * *

  
  
  
Three days. Three days on the lam and Nate hadn’t stopped, slept, or blink. Those guys from the Ministry had almost caught him a few times. It had taken a couple tries, but Nate finally figured out how he could evade them.  
  
At the same time, he also knew he couldn’t keep going like this.  
  
That was what brought him to where he was now; sitting on a sidewalk bench, his head in his hands, on the verge of crying for the first time since he was seven and he broke his arm falling from the tree at the end of the block. One this very neighborhood, on this very street, in front of this very building-  
  
“Nate, where have you been?”  
  
Nate pulled his head out of his hands and looked up to the voice. To his right, stood none other than Lorelei, arms crossed in front of her, a white grocery bag in each hand. What were the chances of Lorelei finishing her grocery shopping just in time for her to meet her in front of her building? For that matter, who actually went grocery shopping at one in the morning? But Lorelei was here, so he really didn’t care about the why.  
  
“Nate!” Lorelei exclaimed upon seeing the state of her friend, pulling him up off the bench and onto his feet. “What’s been going on? That Alaia girl can’t find you, so now she’s bugging me. You’re never home, and you look like you haven’t slept in three days!”  
  
“Can’t sleep,” he explained in a shaken tone, “Magic Police after me.”  
  
“Oh, Christ!” Lorelei groaned as she rolled her eyes.  
  
“Can’t sleep,” he went on as his best friend led him into the back ally and up the metal staircase, “they’ll find me. Always find me.”  
  
“Yes, Nate.” Lorelei agreed as she fumbled for her keys. “Well, you must have lost them, because they haven’t found you yet.”  
  
“They know everything,” he stammered as Lorelei opened the door and led him inside. “I’m gonna go to jail!”  
  
He buried his head in his hands and continued to panic, even as Lorelei continued to drag him towards the elevator doors, “I’m gonna go to jail! I’m gonna go to jail!”  
  
“Nate, nobody’s going to jail, and _there are no_ magic police.”  
  
“Yes, there is,” insisted Nate, aware of how delusional he must have sounded as the elevator door closed. “I saw them. They wear robes, and have funny accents, and say things like ‘blimey’ and ‘ever-so’ and…Oh, Lore I wouldn’t survive in prison! I sort-of read _The Shawshank Redemption_!”  
  
He was vaguely aware of Lorelei telling him to ‘grow a damn spine for God’s sake’, but finally was brought back to reality by a well-placed slap across his face. Nate was able to bring himself into a somewhat calmed state just in time to hear the elevator ding for the third floor. Again, Lorelei led him not far down the hallway, stopping in front of apartment 3-B.  
  
“Hmm, why isn’t my key working?” Lorelei muttered to herself as she struggle with the doorknob. Finally, Lorelei simply turned the knob, finding the door unlocked. “Rae, did you unlock the door?”  
  
Rae didn’t answer her. But maybe she couldn’t hear her. The TV was on in the living room and Nate could hear Lorelei’s radio playing from her bedroom. But the inside of the apartment itself was empty, as it was most nights when Lorelei’s mother wasn’t home. Nate wondered where she was performing tonight. Lorelei sat Nate down at the breakfast bar, steadying him to make sure he wouldn’t fall off the chair as soon as she left. Once she was sure, she began rummaging through the various kitchen cupboards while asking question after question.  
  
“So these ‘Magic Police’, Nate; they started chasing you after you hit your head against the hard metal beam?”  
  
“No, Lore,” he argued. “I hit my _nose_ against the door frame. And the Magic Police were there _before_ I hit my head!”  
  
Lorelei jumped off the kitchen counter, holding what appeared to be a small spice jar. “My mistake. What exactly did the Magic Police _say_ to you?”  
  
Nate took a deep breath and began regaling his best friend with the entire sordid tale, right down to what country they were from and what agency they were from. Lorelei listened intently as she mixed various ingredients into a mug. She regarded him with a healthy dose of skepticism in her gaze, but there was also a kindness there too. Even if he couldn’t tell if she believed them, the kindness in her expression let him no any hostility they held towards each other yesterday were long since dissolved.  
  
“Lore…” Nate groaned.  
  
“Hmm…”  
  
“Hey, Lorelei…” Rae’s quiet voice came hidden from the hallway.  
  
“In a minute, Rae,” Lorelei shouted her sister. “I’m sorry, Nate. What were you saying?”  
  
“You think I’m making this all up, don’t you?”  
  
Lorelei shifted uncomfortably where she stood, stirring the mug in her hand. “It’s not that, Nate. It’s that these ‘Magic Police’ of yours sound like imaginary friends.”  
  
“Magic Police are not our friends, Lore!” Nate shouted.  
  
“Good enough, Nate,” Lorelei said, handing him the steaming mug. “Here, you can make friends with this.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“I’m not sure.” Lorelei shrugged. “Your brother told me about it. Mixed with other ingredients, it makes many different sleeping potions. But by itself, it’s still a powerful sedative.”  
  
“When did you and Carter talk about potion ingredients?”  
  
“Do you really care at this point?” Lorelei asked him, shaking the mug three inches away from his face.  
  
Nate shook his head no, and accepted the offered drink. As he gulped it down, he noticed Rae had wondered into the kitchen.  
  
“Lorelei, can policemen be burglars?”  
  
“What are you talking about, Rae?” Lorelei asked, shaking her head, as though she couldn’t stand any more talk of imaginary friends.  
  
“I just saw two men come out of my bedroom,” Rae explained in her uncharacteristic alto. “When burglars are in your house, you’re supposed to call the police, but the men said they _are_ the police. Who do we call then?”  
  
“Rae, have you be-”  
  
Lorelei was suddenly interrupted by a crash and the sound of breaking glass. She glared off towards the direction of the noise. Slowly, she stepped backward towards the coat closet. Reaching inside, she pulled out a solid oak baseball bat and crept back forward.  
  
“Rae, listen to me,” she told her sister. “I want you to go to the neighbors and tell them I said this was an emergency. Don’t come back to the apartment until I come and get you!”  
  
Rae nodded in agreement and raced out the front door, slamming it behind her. Slowly, Lorelei crept down the hallway, bat hoisted high, a look that hungered for blood plastered across her face.  
  
“Those poor ba…,” was Nate’s last conscious thought came to him as he drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5 The Macalister Girls

Chapter 5  
The Macalister Girls

 

“…and that how I come to America,” the Ethiopian cab driver finished his long-winded story. “So, if anyone ever try to tell you that you cannot fly across the ocean in a hot air balloon you make yourself, they lying.”

The talkative taxi driver had been eating dinner on the curb when Harry and Ron walked passed him, talking about Nate Rivers. He jumped up and stopped them, informing them that he knew exactly who they were talking about. Apparently it was not uncommon for people to have a favorite specific taxi driver, and this cabbie had been shuttling Nate around for a number of years. So when he told Harry and Ron that he had a pretty good hunch of where Nate was going, they leapt at the chance to be taken there.

Streetlights streaked across the windshield, offering brief moments of vision inside the cab. Along the sidewalks, a few stores kept their lights on and a few windows were lit with neon signs, but for the most part the streets were still. And the people who were out walking kept their heads cast down and gave off every impression that they would not be willing to talk.

“Here we are!” The taxi driver slammed on the breaks very suddenly, sending everyone in the cab flying forward, the seatbelts cutting sharply across their middles. “Boy Nate Rivers always has me drop him off here.”

The building they had been brought to was a store called Threadstock. Through the grimy glass windows, Harry could see various displays of clothes that, even as a wizard, he could tell were horribly out-of-date. And the store, like most of the other shops on the street, was bit dark and obviously closed.

“Wonderful!” groaned Ron. “Now we know where he buys his clothes. We can start a stakeout _tonight_!”

“No, no, no. Not clothes store,” the taxi driver corrected him as he pointed into the back alley. “Apartments above clothes store. Door is back in alley.”

Looking up, Harry could see a few windows dotted with light. Although there was no sigh of movement through the glass panes, it was enough of a sign of life for Harry. He reached into his coat pocket, finding the supply of American Muggle money and tossing it to the driver without even counting. Harry stepped out onto the sidewalk and Ron barely had both feet on the pavement before the bright yellow cab screeched down the tar road, tires squealing as he ran a red light to turn a sharp left.

In the alleyway, the dim streetlights barely offered any aid, causing numerous stumbles over scattered litter and the metal staircase up to the apartment doorway. All of it only to find a very much locked door. Harry slowly pulled his conceal wand from his sleeve, debating where to begin in the series of steel locks.

“Excuse me, sir,” he heard somewhat shrill-sounding voice behind him and Ron. “Can I help you with something?”

Ron and Harry both reached for their concealed wands out of reflex beaten into them through years of training. But it wasn’t very long before that hardly seemed necessary and the wands remained in their jacket sleeves. Standing behind them was quite possibly the least intimidating figure in the entire city: a small, frail-looking old woman, bundled down in a dowdy jacket and scuffed leather shoes. Her sleek, silvery hair was tied back into a knot at the nape of her neck. In one arm, she balanced a brown, paper grocery bag from a twenty-four hour market, containing only a single bag of birdseed.

Certainly capable of sneaking up and startling someone near to death, but hardly anyone who could prove to be a threat to two fairly competent Aurors.

“Thank you, ma’am, yes,” Harry answered. “We’re looking for a boy named Nate Rivers, and we’ve received information that he often visits this location.”

The sound of that particular name caused the old woman’s face to grow long and her eyes to become cross. In Harry’s opinion, it was a look usually only bestowed upon bill collectors, candy bar-selling children, and anyone else who appeared at someone’s door unwelcome.

“Oh, I see.” The woman shook her heard in an exasperated sort of way. “I should have known you were here about the Macalister girls.”

She pushed her way past Harry and Ron, pushing her key into one lock after another, all the while continuing to rant about her upstairs neighbors.

“I tell you, it was only a matter of time before someone called in the authorities about that family.”

“Why do you say that?” Ron asked, jumping when the woman used her shoulder to ram the door open in a surprising show of strength.

“Those girls have been a nuisance ever since the day the moved in here.” The woman wiped her shoes against a ratty-looking doormat just inside the hallway, and offered disapproving looks at Harry and Ron when they did not do the same. “That mother of theirs coming and going at all hours, leaving them alone more than she’s with them. Who knows what they get up to when no one’s watching them!

“And I know for a fact the little one has been in my apartment. She comes in and lets my canaries out of their cages whenever I’m out,” The woman’s pitch seemed to rise into almost more of a squawk the angry she got talking about the children who ran wild in her building. “And the older one…well, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. After the first eighteen years of his life, he doubted anything, even the things he saw as an Auror, could shock him anymore. “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

“Well, believe me, I know it sounds crazy, but I think she practices witchcraft!”

Out of the corner of eyes, Harry could see Ron’s eyes widen slightly.

“Witchcraft?” Ron’s voice managed to crack. “What would make you think that, ma’am?”

“Strange smells, lights flashing from the windows, explosions going off every other day,” she listed off. “My apartment is right below theirs, so I’m witness to every single one of these little incidents.

“And adding that horrid boy in with everything else!” she told them, Harry knowing she was referring to Nate. “No respect for his elders, that damn skateboard knocking over anything that gets in his way, and everything seems to get worse whenever he comes sniffing around. You know, if that girl _is_ a witch, it wouldn’t shock me if the boy is too!”

“Have you told anyone about this?” Harry asked as he and Ron followed her up the inside stairs.

“Well, I’ve called the police on numerous occasions, but apparently until some gets killed, strange behaviors are not against the law. And of course, I’ve tried calling social services so I could at least get the girls moved somewhere else, but they say unless they can find evidence of abuse or neglect, there’s nothing they can do.

“No case for neglect?” The woman snorted a sharp laughter. “Those girls are home alone twenty hours a day, and that’s not neglect? You know, I’ll bet it was that older girl, Lorelei. She probably puts some sort of spell on every social worker who comes through their door.”

There was still on last case of stairs leading upward, but the old woman instead walked out into the burgundy-carpeted hallway, pulling out her keys to open one of the doorways in a row down the walls.

“So these Macalister girls,” Harry asked, pointing upwards. “They live just up on the next floor up?”

“Exactly,” the woman replied. “I live in apartment 2-B; the Macalisters live in apartment 3-B. Good luck to both of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry replied. “My friend and I will certainly check on everything you said.”

“You’re welcome,” she sighed, beginning to shut the door, but still speaking through the cracked opening. “I suppose it’s too much to ask to have a fourteen-year-old who just smokes cigarettes and dresses like a tramp these days.”

And with that, she slammed the door shut, leaving Ron and Harry alone in the hallway.

“What kind of kids are they breeding in this country?” Ron hissed as he followed Harry up the last flight of stairs. “The boys are all felons and the girls use magic in front of Muggles without so much as a second thought.”

“Neighborhood gossip,” Harry assured his friend. “People can talk about their neighbors being wizards, but unless they actually see something to prove it, there’s no reason to panic. I can tell you how many calls I’ve gone on where Muggles simply accuse somebody of being a witch. Let’s hope you never have to tag along on one of those cases. Dreadfully boring and just a general pain.”

Ron nodded and with only three steps left, they were final on the top floor of the complex. And to their right, sure enough, was apartment 3-B, right above where they had spoken to the elderly woman just moments before.

“Hello?” Harry knocked sharply against the solid oak door. “Miss Macalister, are you in there?”

Nothing. No one came to the door, not even any of the neighbors across the hall coming out complain about the noise at such a late hour.

“I hear music playing inside,” Ron whispered. “And the lights are on. Somebody’s home.”

“Their mother probably has a rule against opening the door when she’s not home,” Harry told him.

Suddenly, as though on cue, the light sound of feet pattering across the floor echoed of the softly playing blues music, soon followed by a slamming door.

“It sounds like someone’s running around inside,” Ron remarked in the same hushed tone he had been using all along.

“It sounds like extenuating circumstances,” Harry said as he pulled his wand from his pocket. “ _Alohomora_!”

One after another, there was the sound of the four locks sealing the apartment door shut snapping open. Carefully, Harry reached for the doorknob and turned it open, pushing the door open ajar slowly on the off chance that whoever was inside would be right against the wall waiting for them.

Inside, the flat was fully lit, but completely still. The television was set on mute and a reading lamp was turned on over the sofa, a paperback resting open across the arm. Music was playing down one of the hallways, behind one of the shut doors. The whole room gave the feeling that its occupants had all vanished mere seconds before the front door opened. But there was something else that made the entire scene so eerie.

Having a son of his own, Harry’s house was a constant mess with toys scattered throughout every room in the house, the occasional piece of abandoned laundry, and even a few things he and Ginny had contributed to the mess. This flat, however, was so orderly, it was disturbing. The hardwood floors were polished to the point where Harry could nearly see his reflection; the walls were covered with various pieces of obscure art, but no family photos. The TV tucked in the corner didn’t even have on video that would interest anyone under the age of twenty, and the surface of the refrigerator was completely empty, devoid of souvenir magnets or report cards. The entire feel of the place seemed wrong for the people Harry had been told lived here: a single mother with two children.

Harry and Ron made their way down the hallway, walking to the first door on the right and gently pushing it open. The interior was silent and left little hope that anyone was inside.

The room it had led them to looked as though it belonged to a little girl. It was small, cluttered, but full of color, from the bedspread to what had to be at least three dozen drawings taped to the plain beige walls. It seemed to be more a mess than the rest of the flat, dolls scatted alongside singular crayons and scraps of yellowed drawing paper. Harry involuntarily jumped at the sound of a snap, only to look down and see that the noise had been caused by his foot stepping on a peach-colored crayon.

The room as a whole seemed to exist as an entire separate entity from the rest of what he and Ron had seen, as though whoever lived in this room lived a life without any interference or support from any of the other inhabitants of the flat.

Then, a muffled cough caused Harry to turn around, only to curse himself for being so jumpy when there had been absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

Waiting on just the other side of the door was a little girl with dirty blond hair, and large honey-colored eyes. She looked up at the two strangers, not afraid, not even wary of their presence. She simply stared in quiet observance, a thoughtful look on her face, but no signs of any real emotion.

“Hello, cutie,” Harry tried to say in as friendly a voice as possible. “My name is Harry, and this my friend, Ron. We’re…policemen.”

The girl remained silent, looking up at the both of them with a stare of quiet awe. Her head cocked to the side slightly, but still, she said nothing to them; not even to ask how they had gotten into her home.

If this even _was_ her home…

“Maybe you can help us. We’re trying to find a boy named Nate Rivers. Do you know anyone with that name?

She put her thumb to her mouth, as though debating whether or not to suck it, but still didn’t say a word. As horrible as it sounded, Harry found himself wishing the little girl would cry, or scream, or do _something_. There was something about her behavior that just seemed unnatural.

“We’ll give you a Chocolate Frog if you do,” tried Ron when she still hadn’t given an answer.

As though she had finally lost interest, the little girl stepped backward into the hallway toward the glass-panel doors just behind her. She pulled one open just a crack, slid in, and sat down on the floor, watching the two of them as though they were animals in the zoo.

“That is one creepy little kid.” Ron remarked as the little girl pressed her nose to the glass.

“This flat doesn’t even _look_ like any children live here,” Harry added as he surveyed the rest of the flat’s open area. Other than the glass-panel doors directly across from them, there was a door open slightly ajar, leading to a bathroom, and one more shut door at the far end of the hallway; the last doorway, leaving nowhere else for any other surprise guests to hide.

Out through the hallway, a pair of honey-brown eyes followed as he did so, still showing no fear, no panic, nothing. Harry pushed the door open quite easily, the door being just barely latched, and walked inside. He turned, banging his leg into the glass-top desk resting next to the door, causing him to swear sharply under his breath.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Harry nodded with his teeth clenched, rubbing the injured spot on his thigh while looking around the room. This one, too, seemed to belong to a girl, but not a little girl like the honey-eyed one hiding behind the glass. The one brick wall across from them was covered with school certificates, glossy posters of European cities and Asian gardens, and of bands he had never heard of; none of them moving. A radio on the end table next to the bed proved to be the source of the blues music they had heard in the hallway, actually quite loud when they were in the same room with it. Like the bedroom opposite it, it seemed to exist in the pattern of having itself cut off from the rest of the flat, existing in its own little universe.

Ron walked over to a bed tucked in the corner. The violet sheets were perfectly made, but the covers were rumpled, as though someone had been jumping up and down on the bed.

“There’s a fire escape out here, Harry,” Ron pointed out, and then pointed to the bed. “It wouldn’t be that difficult for him to come and go as he pleased.”

Harry glanced out the window, but even from as far away as he was, he could see the view of the city lights and even the river offered from the fire escape. It wasn’t hard to understand why anyone would want to spend a fair amount of time out there.

“Do you think he would try to hide here?” Ron turned on the lamp resting on the side table. “The place hardly seems the type for a teenage boy to come to very often.”

“It’s likely. He obviously feels safe here,” answered Harry, who had moved his way over to the bureau. “Look at this.”

In Harry’s hand was a framed photograph. In the photograph, was Nate Rivers, laughing and making faces at the camera. Sitting beside him was a pale, dark-haired girl, harder to recognize with the sour-expression on her face, but there was little doubt as to who it was. It was one of the girls that had been on the stoop earlier that afternoon; one of the children who seemed to know Nate.

But unlike Nate, she was sitting stiffly off to the side, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, and occasionally laughing at something Nate did. The moving photograph, despite all the Muggle decorations in the bedroom, offered proof that the old woman downstairs had been right in her suspicions: the older of the Macalister girls _was_ a witch.

“Hello, Miss Macalister,” Harry said to the photograph as Nate threw an arm around her shoulder.

Harry set the photo down and began to look through the collection of photographs scattered atop the bureau. As he went from frame to frame, he noticed they were _all_ photos of the same two children. Nate Rivers and Lorelei Macalister at a park, bundled in jackets against the cold wind, pushing the little blonde girl on the swing. A very old picture of Nate in a suit and Lorelei in a frilly white dress, the pair of them looking no older than seven. And even a picture of the two of them sitting outside on that very same fire escape, watching the lights come on over the city. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all.

“She has a diary.” Ron pointed out as held up the tiny spiral notebook.

“I think,” Ron added, straining as he read over the last few passages that had been written. “ _…wind blows in hot over the city as the last days of school are over. I don’t sleep during those times. Not that I truly sleep at any time of the year. Nate thinks this all a good idea, and given the right people come along, it could start to breath. But I’d rip it apart at its core first. Nate would think it’s funny. Nate would think that can make us safe._

Nose wrinkled, Ron looked up at Harry, the diary still open to the same page, a confused expression on his face.

“Is _that_ helpful?”

“Not really, Ron,” Harry answered, taking the journal and flipping through the pages himself. But all of it just seemed like nonsense written down to confuse whoever tried to read it.

Harry ran his fingertips over the page, observing the handwriting itself. For a passage that seemed written for the sake of confusing the reader, the rushed quality of the letters looked as though whoever wrote them could not get them on the page fast enough. But at the same time, he noticed a definite practiced quality to the rabid script. In fact, the longer the Harry stared at it, the more Harry began to notice: a too-thin loop on several of the letter, a heavy flourish on the last stroke of every word. The more familiarities he noted, the clearer it became to where he had seen them before.

“Ron, look at the writing!” Harry raced over to the doorway where Ron was looking over objects on the glass-top desk. “What does it tell you?”

Ron looked over the diary, not taking it, though. But he didn’t seem to notice anything particularly odd about the handwriting.

“ _Two_ very creepy kids live here?” Ron commented.

Harry fished into his pockets, searching until finally found what he was looking for: an old, crumpled letter that had been a thorn in Harry’s side for more than a week now.

“How about now?” Harry asked, showing it to Ron.

As Ron began to compare the two pieces of paper, his eyes began to widen with recognition, and Harry already knew why. This was the letter that had been sent to Professor McGonagall by Nate Rivers, the one that had started this whole bloody headache.

The letter had seemed so out of the blue when it had arrived, that he had hardly thought to look at the handwriting. It did seem like the signature was different than the hand that had written the body of the letter, but Harry had been running and rushing so much lately, he hadn’t stopped to dwell on it. He hadn’t stopped to consider who had written the letter _for_ Nate, or even if it _had_ been anyone other than Nate.

“The girl who owns this journal also wrote that letter to Professor McGonagall,” Harry thought aloud, walking back towards the window, eyes still spread across the pages. They collaborated with each other!”

Ron didn’t answer or respond in any way to what Harry felt was an amazing discovery. He was about to say something when he heard a very distinct-sounding crack and Ron crumpled to the floor. And then another crack, and another, and another, and another…

“HARRY!” Ron shouted, as the sound of more cracking blows rained down on him. “GET HER OFF! GET HER OFF, PLEASE!”

Harry spun around rapidly to see his best mate crouched on the floor, trying in vain to fend off the smashing blows of a bat wielded by a girl swinging as though she were going for a record.

It took a moment for Harry to realize it, but he recognized the girl wielding the bat. It was the sour-faced girl on the stoop, the older of the Macalister sisters, Lorelei. And, as recently discovered, the author of a certain letter that had been causing Harry far too many migraines as of late.

But _Ron_ seemed to be the one she was causing more at the moment…in his head, and his shoulders, and his shins, and his back…

“YOU…DIRTY…THEIVING…SON OF A BI-”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Harry pointed his wand at the wildly-crazy girl, sending the bat flying out of her hand and over her head, creating a very loud clank as it crashed to the floor unseen.

“Holy hell!” she screamed as she tried to scramble back up to her feet. “NATE!”

She disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Harry raced out of the bedroom after her, leaving Ron behind, finding it hard to believe any worse could happen to him tonight. However, fearing the volume factor only getting louder the longer this went on, Harry swiftly cast a Silencing Charm as he moved. The last thing he and Ron needed was to give the old woman from downstairs yet another reason to call the police; especially if the commotion upstairs caused enough ruckus to actually convince them to come.

Arriving in the adjoining living room and kitchen, he found a baggy-clothed figure slumped over on the breakfast bar. There, in a drugged-looking state of sleep, was Nate Rivers.

“NATE!” Lorelei shouted in her friend’s face, yanking him up by his hair. “Nate Rivers, wakey-wakey! Your best friend needs you!”

It was a dramatically loud smack across the face, causing Nate to topple backwards on the stool, which finally brought Nate to his senses in a fit of stuttering and jerky movement. It was only when his eyes finally focused on Ron and Harry that he finally seemed to be brought completely back to reality.

“MAGIC POLICE!” Nate shouted near to the point of screeching, scrambling onto the toppled stool and pulling himself back to his friend’s side. “You see, Lore? I _told_ you they were following me!”

“Wait,” Lorelei stopped her friend, pointing towards Ron and Harry. “There actually _are_ magic police?”

Nate began to nod, only to be pushed to the floor, stool and all, by the furious-looking girl. “And you led them back here?!”

With so many rapid emotions circling the room, Harry was certain he didn’t trust the girl to be hanging onto a solid metal weapon at the moment; even more so now that he saw the treatment she gave to people she considered her _friends_. With his wand still concealed, a wordless charm sent a few idle knives into a drawer resting below the sink, along with a few forks and a meat tenderizing hammer just for good measure.

Lorelei’s eyes, indicating that she had heard the sound of sliding metal, flicked over to the sink drawer, and then, more slowly, back to Harry. Her expression displayed a variety of different emotions: confusion as to why the bat had been taken from her, annoyance that it had been taken from her, and barely suppressed anger at the two invading strangers in her home and her supposed friend who had led them there.

The one thing she didn’t seem to appear was afraid.

“Now,” Harry began, making sure to keep his movements fluid and his voice low; behavior usually reserved only for when one was approaching a wild animal. “No one is in trouble, and _no one_ is being arrested.”

Harry made sure to stress that point when he noticed the two children tense as he approached them. Even as he watched his movement as carefully as he did, Lorelei continued to move further away, back into the kitchen area. Nate stayed put, but his feet seemed to twitch underneath him, as though he wanted nothing more than to run, even straight out the window.

“This should have gone a lot easier and a lot faster if you weren’t so quick to run, Mr. Rivers.”

Nate offered a disgusted look as he sensed the beginning of lecture in Harry’s voice. “But nobody’s in any trouble here; we don’t even have to leave the flat. We are, however, going to have to have you answer to a few of our questions about Skat-Hatok-”

“Ahhhh!” Ron shouted as a shot of icy water sprayed over his front. “COLD! Really cold!”

Harry had been so focused on keeping his eyes on Nate that he hadn’t even noticed Lorelei creeping back towards the sink. In a small window of opportunity, she reached for the spray nozzle in the sink and began spraying it all over the kitchen. Whether she was merely trying to create a distraction, or if she actually though it might actually do something remained to be seen.

“Oh, for the love of God, Lore!” Nate shouted at his friend. “He’s not the frickin’ Witch of the West!”

It was becoming more and more obvious that these two were not feeling the spirit of cooperation. Neither of them seemed willing to sit down and discuss the situation calmly; the only thing that appeared to garner any sense of respect was when they were staring down the surface of an opposing wand. Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve, making it very visible to the two teenagers. The two didn’t come close to submitting, but there did seem to be a significant decrease in their impulsive desire to fight.

It was a rarity when Harry ever had to pull his wand on a suspect, and in actuality, he had no intention of casting _any_ hex on the two children in front of him. But he could hardly argue with the results.

But there was barely any opportunity for the two teenagers to see the pointed wands, because both his wand and Ron’s, which he hadn’t even drawn yet, flew backwards, over their shoulder, as though attracted by a magnet. The two rods flew right into the waiting hands of a small child with dirty blonde waves and bed-rumpled pajamas. The little girl laughed, tapping the two wands together at the tips. Multi-colored sparks danced from the wands, the little’s girl’s honey brown eyes growing wide with wonder, an awed sigh escaping her lips.

“RAE!” Lorelei shouted. “I told you to go to the neighbors!”

The small child, Rae, looked up at Lorelei, back to Harry and Ron, then back to the two teenagers cowering back in the open kitchen area. She met both opposing parties with a gaze of curiosity and some sort of quiet understanding. But, like Lorelei, she showed no signs of any fear towards the situation.

In the brief moment that their eyes had been averted, Lorelei Macalister had snuck across the room, quietly retrieved the bat, and crept up from behind them to smash Harry right in the back of the knees, sending him crashing to the hard surface of the floor.

“Rae, hide!” Lorelei ordered the younger child.

Harry looked up just in time to see Rae dash off behind the kitchen counter and hear a cabinet door open and close. Nate, in all this madness, had the perfect opportunity to run, but to Harry’s shock, he hadn’t moved from the spot he had been in when Lorelei had first started swinging. And his eyes had never left his friend, who seemed to be the only person in the room who did not put him at unease. He watched her attack with the calm of someone observing something as mundane as a pigeon on the sidewalk; as though this sort of behavior were not only acceptable from his friend, but perfectly ordinary.

What finally did cause him to react was when Lorelei attempted to swing the bat at Ron’s shoulder, missed and fell onto an end table; one of the dark walnut legs cracking and breaking as she went down. Then, he bolted across the living room and dropped to his friend’s side, allowing Harry enough of a diversion to seek after Rae and the wand.

Once on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, he could hear pots, pans, and various metal clanging as Rae crawled through the cabinets. Slowly, stepping softly, Harry followed alongside Rae as she crawled through the shelves, wondering how long it would be before the two teenagers on the opposite end of the flat finally ganged up on him with that Merlin-be-damned bat.

Luckily, though, before that could happen, Rae finally emerged from one of the cabinet doors, looking from side to side, but not seeing Harry standing right behind her. And with an overly large amount of ease, he snatched the two wands out of the girl’s loose grip.

“Thank you, young lady,” Harry remarked, taking one wand and tossing the other to Ron, not seven feet away. Nate and Lorelei had not moved from their crouched positions on the floor, against the wall.

Suddenly, jumping to his feet and making leaps and bounds across the planked floors, he sprinted for the front door.

“ _Colloportus!_ ” Harry shouted, pointing his wand towards the door, effectively sealing it in place. Ordinarily, opting for such a simple charm would have been a poor decision. But as he had yet to see either of the two children extract a wand, Harry began to have serious doubts as to whether either of them even had a wand. They had clearly seen him use a charm to shut them in, but still neither of them employed the use of magic.

Still, Nate strained and pulled at the doorknob, as though he still thought he might be able to force the door open. Lorelei, on the other hand stood stiff, still and rigid, nearly shaking.

But instead, she let out an angry, piercing scream so loud, it could have shattered glass. Actually, glass _did_ shatter. The glass panes from the three living room windows fractured with deep cracks before the shattered fragments scattered across the hardwood floors. Then a loud crack caused Nate to jump back against the walls, doing so just in time to watch the front door fly inches in front of his face, bits of plaster still clinging to the ripped hinges. Soon, several identical rips and crashes told Harry that the rest of the flats doors had been ripped down too.

Unintentional or not, things were getting entirely out of hand. Harry pointed his wand, and a wordless silencing charm quickly ended Lorelei’s shrieks. Once her voice was lost, the girl clutched at her throat and made a desperate effort to speak, but unable to utter more than a few rasping breaths of air.

Still, the entire building shook with the aftershock, coming to an end only after the light surged, flickered and the entire street was plunged into darkness.

For a moment that seemed to last longer than it actually was, the entire apartment was dead silent. Not even the sounds of whispers, movement, or breathing could be heard. Harry found himself confused. Not by the fact that he hadn’t seen either of the older children use magic until now, but by the fact that someone Lorelei’s age was still having fits of uncontrollable magic, at fourteen, possibly fifteen.

“ _Lumos,_ ” Harry whispered, waving his wand across the room. Also whispering a quick “ _Reparo_ ” on the windows, lifting the broken glass of the floor, he hoped against hope that the vanishing electricity would simply be attributed to a power outage and that the American Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee would not need to be called in.

Now all they had to do was attempt to handle the _inward_ situation themselves. Rae peaked out from behind the counter, and soon popped right back behind it as soon as they made eye contact. Brief flashes of movement lurked throughout the flat, taking turns racing between pieces of furniture, but never staying still long enough to be seen.

“911 emergency,” Harry heard a soft, but low voice coming from off to the side. “Please state the nature of your problem.”

While Harry had been distracted, Rae had found a phone hidden somewhere, and was now calling the Muggle police for help, as though they were actually equipped to handle the situation.

“Hello,” she whispered into the phone. “Magic Police are attacking my house.”

“No, no! Not Magic Police!” Nate leapt out from behind the couch and snatched the phone out of Rae’s hand, trying to stop the phone operator from hanging up. “We just found burglars in the house, and they know we’re calling for help right now, so can you please send a car or a SWAT team or somebody!”

Now Harry was simply getting fed up. He had been indulging them as of this moment, because he thought this matter was one that could be solved with a relatively little amount of effort, but now things were simply getting ridiculous.

“That’s it!” Harry shouted, stomping towards Nate with his hand out. “You give that to me right now!”

Instead, demonstrating a complete in ability to learn cause and effect, Nate once again ran for the ripped opening in the wall where the front door had once stood. A Leg Locker Curse, though, quickly put an end to that and sent Nate falling, rather painfully, to the hardwood floor. The phone, however, only landed about a foot from his face, still leaving him with the ability to shout into the receiver with his arms bound at his sides.

“Armed?” Nate repeated what the phone operator asked him, looking up and noting the retrieved wands. “Oh, yeah; they’re armed!”

Crawling between Harry’s legs and grabbing the phone before he could reach of it, Rae snatched and quickly scooted back on her knees.

The cell phone was precious inches away from Rae’s ear when an electronic voice chimed, “Incoming phone call. Would you like to select Call Waiting?”

“Uh, hold on,” Rae told the 911 operator, pressing a button that ended the call and brought the panic sounding mumbles of this new stranger.

“Hello,” Rae spoke to the new stranger, looking as though she were confused. “You tell me first.”

This time, the mumbling voice spoke louder and very quickly. “Look, little girl; either Ron Weasley is there or he isn’t. Just let me know, and let me know RIGHT NOW!”

It was Hermione. This recognition seemed to dawn with Ron first, who quickly raced across the floor and snatched the phone out of Rae’s hand, but not before Rae could playfully reach for the speaker button so everyone would be able to hear what should have been a private conversation.

“Hermione? What’s going on?” Ron gasped, becoming suddenly oblivious the conflict that had just bee accruing around him. “How did you know where I was? How did you think to use the tele-ma-phono?”

Lorelei snorted and raised an eyebrow, and Nate began rolling and thrashing around on the floor in an effort to break the Leg Locking Curse.

“I’ll tell you later.” Hermione’s voice rang clearly over the receiver.

“Hermione,” Ron said, eyes flashing over the scene. “This really isn’t a good time.”

“I wanted to tell you in person, but,” Hermione spoke over the phone, “I can’t put it off anymore. It’s not healthy.”

“Um,” Nate wriggled on the floor, as though trying to wave in an effort to gain the attention of the two Aurors. “Remember us?”

However, while Harry noticed this, Ron didn’t seem to defer at all from his squabble with his wife.

“Hermione,” Ron began again, “I know this has never an official rule, but I can’t have you tracking me down and calling me on people’s tele-ma-phonos when I’m on a case-”

“I’m pregnant!”

Ron’s mouth fell open in shock, and Harry stood motionless off to the side. Rae began to clap and smile at what she thought was good news, but slowed and finally stopped when she noticing the conflicting reactions around the room.

“Ron,” Hermione began to panic when she did not hear a response. “Ron, you’re speechless, right? Ron?”

Finally, in a dramatic reaction normally only reserved for over-the-top movies, Ron fell to the floor and did not get up, his eyes shut and a gentle groan escaping from his mouth.

“RON,” Hermione screamed into the phone, “RON, SAY SOMETHING!”

Lorelei walked over to Ron and picked up the phone, holding it up to her ear before remembering that the Silencing Charm was still in effect. Carefully, Harry took the phone from her before she could remember it was _Harry_ that had taken her voice in the first place.

“Um…hello, Hermione; it’s Harry,” he spoke into the phone. “Ron’s going to have to call you back, alright?”

With Hermione still yelling, Harry handed the phone back to Lorelei, who was standing right next to him with her hand out. Stiffly, she snapped the phone shut and pointed to her throat and then to her friend wriggling on the floor. Warily, Harry lifted the effects of the respective charms and breathed a sigh of relief when neither of them ran. Lorelei pulled a still-struggling Nate to his feet, and then tapped her bare foot against Ron’s shoulder.

Nothing. Maybe things had just become too interesting for either of them to leave now.

“I’m…gonna go clean the kitchen,” Lorelei said as she passed the phone off to Nate.

“And,” Nate though as he watched his friend walk away and turned back to Harry, “I’m gonna go reattach all the doors.”

And with Ron sprawled out on the floor, not moving, Harry was left alone with little Rae, staring at the phone as though it were some new toy.

“I’m hungry,” Rae muttered sweetly and smiled up at Harry, as though oblivious to the scene that had just played out.


	6. Chapter 5 The Macalister Girls

**Chapter 5  
The Macalister Girls**

 

“…and that how I come to America,” the Ethiopian cab driver finished his long-winded story. “So, if anyone ever try to tell you that you cannot fly across the ocean in a hot air balloon you make yourself, they lying.”

The talkative taxi driver had been eating dinner on the curb when Harry and Ron walked passed him, talking about Nate Rivers. He jumped up and stopped them, informing them that he knew exactly who they were talking about. Apparently it was not uncommon for people to have a favorite specific taxi driver, and this cabbie had been shuttling Nate around for a number of years. So when he told Harry and Ron that he had a pretty good hunch of where Nate was going, they leapt at the chance to be taken there.

Streetlights streaked across the windshield, offering brief moments of vision inside the cab. Along the sidewalks, a few stores kept their lights on and a few windows were lit with neon signs, but for the most part the streets were still. And the people who were out walking kept their heads cast down and gave off every impression that they would not be willing to talk.

“Here we are!” The taxi driver slammed on the breaks very suddenly, sending everyone in the cab flying forward, the seatbelts cutting sharply across their middles. “Boy Nate Rivers always has me drop him off here.”

The building they had been brought to was a store called Threadstock. Through the grimy glass windows, Harry could see various displays of clothes that, even as a wizard, he could tell were horribly out-of-date. And the store, like most of the other shops on the street, was bit dark and obviously closed.

“Wonderful!” groaned Ron. “Now we know where he buys his clothes. We can start a stakeout _tonight_!”

“No, no, no. Not clothes store,” the taxi driver corrected him as he pointed into the back alley. “Apartments above clothes store. Door is back in alley.”

Looking up, Harry could see a few windows dotted with light. Although there was no sigh of movement through the glass panes, it was enough of a sign of life for Harry. He reached into his coat pocket, finding the supply of American Muggle money and tossing it to the driver without even counting. Harry stepped out onto the sidewalk and Ron barely had both feet on the pavement before the bright yellow cab screeched down the tar road, tires squealing as he ran a red light to turn a sharp left.

In the alleyway, the dim streetlights barely offered any aid, causing numerous stumbles over scattered litter and the metal staircase up to the apartment doorway. All of it only to find a very much locked door. Harry slowly pulled his conceal wand from his sleeve, debating where to begin in the series of steel locks.

“Excuse me, sir,” he heard somewhat shrill-sounding voice behind him and Ron. “Can I help you with something?”

Ron and Harry both reached for their concealed wands out of reflex beaten into them through years of training. But it wasn’t very long before that hardly seemed necessary and the wands remained in their jacket sleeves. Standing behind them was quite possibly the least intimidating figure in the entire city: a small, frail-looking old woman, bundled down in a dowdy jacket and scuffed leather shoes. Her sleek, silvery hair was tied back into a knot at the nape of her neck. In one arm, she balanced a brown, paper grocery bag from a twenty-four hour market, containing only a single bag of birdseed.

Certainly capable of sneaking up and startling someone near to death, but hardly anyone who could prove to be a threat to two fairly competent Aurors.

“Thank you, ma’am, yes,” Harry answered. “We’re looking for a boy named Nate Rivers, and we’ve received information that he often visits this location.”

The sound of that particular name caused the old woman’s face to grow long and her eyes to become cross. In Harry’s opinion, it was a look usually only bestowed upon bill collectors, candy bar-selling children, and anyone else who appeared at someone’s door unwelcome.

“Oh, I see.” The woman shook her heard in an exasperated sort of way. “I should have known you were here about the Macalister girls.”

She pushed her way past Harry and Ron, pushing her key into one lock after another, all the while continuing to rant about her upstairs neighbors.

“I tell you, it was only a matter of time before someone called in the authorities about that family.”

“Why do you say that?” Ron asked, jumping when the woman used her shoulder to ram the door open in a surprising show of strength.

“Those girls have been a nuisance ever since the day the moved in here.” The woman wiped her shoes against a ratty-looking doormat just inside the hallway, and offered disapproving looks at Harry and Ron when they did not do the same. “That mother of theirs coming and going at all hours, leaving them alone more than she’s with them. Who knows what they get up to when no one’s watching them!

“And I know for a fact the little one has been in my apartment. She comes in and lets my canaries out of their cages whenever I’m out,” The woman’s pitch seemed to rise into almost more of a squawk the angry she got talking about the children who ran wild in her building. “And the older one…well, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. After the first eighteen years of his life, he doubted anything, even the things he saw as an Auror, could shock him anymore. “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

“Well, believe me, I know it sounds crazy, but I think she practices witchcraft!”

Out of the corner of eyes, Harry could see Ron’s eyes widen slightly.

“Witchcraft?” Ron’s voice managed to crack. “What would make you think that, ma’am?”

“Strange smells, lights flashing from the windows, explosions going off every other day,” she listed off. “My apartment is right below theirs, so I’m witness to every single one of these little incidents.

“And adding that horrid boy in with everything else!” she told them, Harry knowing she was referring to Nate. “No respect for his elders, that damn skateboard knocking over anything that gets in his way, and everything seems to get worse whenever he comes sniffing around. You know, if that girl _is_ a witch, it wouldn’t shock me if the boy is too!”

“Have you told anyone about this?” Harry asked as he and Ron followed her up the inside stairs.

“Well, I’ve called the police on numerous occasions, but apparently until some gets killed, strange behaviors are not against the law. And of course, I’ve tried calling social services so I could at least get the girls moved somewhere else, but they say unless they can find evidence of abuse or neglect, there’s nothing they can do.

“No case for neglect?” The woman snorted a sharp laughter. “Those girls are home alone twenty hours a day, and that’s not neglect? You know, I’ll bet it was that older girl, Lorelei. She probably puts some sort of spell on every social worker who comes through their door.”

There was still on last case of stairs leading upward, but the old woman instead walked out into the burgundy-carpeted hallway, pulling out her keys to open one of the doorways in a row down the walls.

“So these Macalister girls,” Harry asked, pointing upwards. “They live just up on the next floor up?”

“Exactly,” the woman replied. “I live in apartment 2-B; the Macalisters live in apartment 3-B. Good luck to both of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry replied. “My friend and I will certainly check on everything you said.”

“You’re welcome,” she sighed, beginning to shut the door, but still speaking through the cracked opening. “I suppose it’s too much to ask to have a fourteen-year-old who just smokes cigarettes and dresses like a tramp these days.”

And with that, she slammed the door shut, leaving Ron and Harry alone in the hallway.

“What kind of kids are they breeding in this country?” Ron hissed as he followed Harry up the last flight of stairs. “The boys are all felons and the girls use magic in front of Muggles without so much as a second thought.”

“Neighborhood gossip,” Harry assured his friend. “People can talk about their neighbors being wizards, but unless they actually see something to prove it, there’s no reason to panic. I can tell you how many calls I’ve gone on where Muggles simply accuse somebody of being a witch. Let’s hope you never have to tag along on one of those cases. Dreadfully boring and just a general pain.”

Ron nodded and with only three steps left, they were final on the top floor of the complex. And to their right, sure enough, was apartment 3-B, right above where they had spoken to the elderly woman just moments before.

“Hello?” Harry knocked sharply against the solid oak door. “Miss Macalister, are you in there?”

Nothing. No one came to the door, not even any of the neighbors across the hall coming out complain about the noise at such a late hour.

“I hear music playing inside,” Ron whispered. “And the lights are on. Somebody’s home.”

“Their mother probably has a rule against opening the door when she’s not home,” Harry told him.

Suddenly, as though on cue, the light sound of feet pattering across the floor echoed of the softly playing blues music, soon followed by a slamming door.

“It sounds like someone’s running around inside,” Ron remarked in the same hushed tone he had been using all along.

“It sounds like extenuating circumstances,” Harry said as he pulled his wand from his pocket. “ _Alohomora_!”

One after another, there was the sound of the four locks sealing the apartment door shut snapping open. Carefully, Harry reached for the doorknob and turned it open, pushing the door open ajar slowly on the off chance that whoever was inside would be right against the wall waiting for them.

Inside, the flat was fully lit, but completely still. The television was set on mute and a reading lamp was turned on over the sofa, a paperback resting open across the arm. Music was playing down one of the hallways, behind one of the shut doors. The whole room gave the feeling that its occupants had all vanished mere seconds before the front door opened. But there was something else that made the entire scene so eerie.

Having a son of his own, Harry’s house was a constant mess with toys scattered throughout every room in the house, the occasional piece of abandoned laundry, and even a few things he and Ginny had contributed to the mess. This flat, however, was so orderly, it was disturbing. The hardwood floors were polished to the point where Harry could nearly see his reflection; the walls were covered with various pieces of obscure art, but no family photos. The TV tucked in the corner didn’t even have on video that would interest anyone under the age of twenty, and the surface of the refrigerator was completely empty, devoid of souvenir magnets or report cards. The entire feel of the place seemed wrong for the people Harry had been told lived here: a single mother with two children.

Harry and Ron made their way down the hallway, walking to the first door on the right and gently pushing it open. The interior was silent and left little hope that anyone was inside.

The room it had led them to looked as though it belonged to a little girl. It was small, cluttered, but full of color, from the bedspread to what had to be at least three dozen drawings taped to the plain beige walls. It seemed to be more a mess than the rest of the flat, dolls scatted alongside singular crayons and scraps of yellowed drawing paper. Harry involuntarily jumped at the sound of a snap, only to look down and see that the noise had been caused by his foot stepping on a peach-colored crayon.

The room as a whole seemed to exist as an entire separate entity from the rest of what he and Ron had seen, as though whoever lived in this room lived a life without any interference or support from any of the other inhabitants of the flat.

Then, a muffled cough caused Harry to turn around, only to curse himself for being so jumpy when there had been absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

Waiting on just the other side of the door was a little girl with dirty blond hair, and large honey-colored eyes. She looked up at the two strangers, not afraid, not even wary of their presence. She simply stared in quiet observance, a thoughtful look on her face, but no signs of any real emotion.

“Hello, cutie,” Harry tried to say in as friendly a voice as possible. “My name is Harry, and this my friend, Ron. We’re…policemen.”

The girl remained silent, looking up at the both of them with a stare of quiet awe. Her head cocked to the side slightly, but still, she said nothing to them; not even to ask how they had gotten into her home.

If this even _was_ her home…

“Maybe you can help us. We’re trying to find a boy named Nate Rivers. Do you know anyone with that name?

She put her thumb to her mouth, as though debating whether or not to suck it, but still didn’t say a word. As horrible as it sounded, Harry found himself wishing the little girl would cry, or scream, or do _something_. There was something about her behavior that just seemed unnatural.

“We’ll give you a Chocolate Frog if you do,” tried Ron when she still hadn’t given an answer.

As though she had finally lost interest, the little girl stepped backward into the hallway toward the glass-panel doors just behind her. She pulled one open just a crack, slid in, and sat down on the floor, watching the two of them as though they were animals in the zoo.

“That is one creepy little kid.” Ron remarked as the little girl pressed her nose to the glass.

“This flat doesn’t even _look_ like any children live here,” Harry added as he surveyed the rest of the flat’s open area. Other than the glass-panel doors directly across from them, there was a door open slightly ajar, leading to a bathroom, and one more shut door at the far end of the hallway; the last doorway, leaving nowhere else for any other surprise guests to hide.

Out through the hallway, a pair of honey-brown eyes followed as he did so, still showing no fear, no panic, nothing. Harry pushed the door open quite easily, the door being just barely latched, and walked inside. He turned, banging his leg into the glass-top desk resting next to the door, causing him to swear sharply under his breath.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Harry nodded with his teeth clenched, rubbing the injured spot on his thigh while looking around the room. This one, too, seemed to belong to a girl, but not a little girl like the honey-eyed one hiding behind the glass. The one brick wall across from them was covered with school certificates, glossy posters of European cities and Asian gardens, and of bands he had never heard of; none of them moving. A radio on the end table next to the bed proved to be the source of the blues music they had heard in the hallway, actually quite loud when they were in the same room with it. Like the bedroom opposite it, it seemed to exist in the pattern of having itself cut off from the rest of the flat, existing in its own little universe.

Ron walked over to a bed tucked in the corner. The violet sheets were perfectly made, but the covers were rumpled, as though someone had been jumping up and down on the bed.

“There’s a fire escape out here, Harry,” Ron pointed out, and then pointed to the bed. “It wouldn’t be that difficult for him to come and go as he pleased.”

Harry glanced out the window, but even from as far away as he was, he could see the view of the city lights and even the river offered from the fire escape. It wasn’t hard to understand why anyone would want to spend a fair amount of time out there.

“Do you think he would try to hide here?” Ron turned on the lamp resting on the side table. “The place hardly seems the type for a teenage boy to come to very often.”

“It’s likely. He obviously feels safe here,” answered Harry, who had moved his way over to the bureau. “Look at this.”

In Harry’s hand was a framed photograph. In the photograph, was Nate Rivers, laughing and making faces at the camera. Sitting beside him was a pale, dark-haired girl, harder to recognize with the sour-expression on her face, but there was little doubt as to who it was. It was one of the girls that had been on the stoop earlier that afternoon; one of the children who seemed to know Nate.

But unlike Nate, she was sitting stiffly off to the side, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, and occasionally laughing at something Nate did. The moving photograph, despite all the Muggle decorations in the bedroom, offered proof that the old woman downstairs had been right in her suspicions: the older of the Macalister girls _was_ a witch.

“Hello, Miss Macalister,” Harry said to the photograph as Nate threw an arm around her shoulder.

Harry set the photo down and began to look through the collection of photographs scattered atop the bureau. As he went from frame to frame, he noticed they were _all_ photos of the same two children. Nate Rivers and Lorelei Macalister at a park, bundled in jackets against the cold wind, pushing the little blonde girl on the swing. A very old picture of Nate in a suit and Lorelei in a frilly white dress, the pair of them looking no older than seven. And even a picture of the two of them sitting outside on that very same fire escape, watching the lights come on over the city. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all.

“She has a diary.” Ron pointed out as held up the tiny spiral notebook.

“I think,” Ron added, straining as he read over the last few passages that had been written. “ _…wind blows in hot over the city as the last days of school are over. I don’t sleep during those times. Not that I truly sleep at any time of the year. Nate thinks this all a good idea, and given the right people come along, it could start to breath. But I’d rip it apart at its core first. Nate would think it’s funny. Nate would think that can make us safe._

Nose wrinkled, Ron looked up at Harry, the diary still open to the same page, a confused expression on his face.

“Is _that_ helpful?”

“Not really, Ron,” Harry answered, taking the journal and flipping through the pages himself. But all of it just seemed like nonsense written down to confuse whoever tried to read it.

Harry ran his fingertips over the page, observing the handwriting itself. For a passage that seemed written for the sake of confusing the reader, the rushed quality of the letters looked as though whoever wrote them could not get them on the page fast enough. But at the same time, he noticed a definite practiced quality to the rabid script. In fact, the longer the Harry stared at it, the more Harry began to notice: a too-thin loop on several of the letter, a heavy flourish on the last stroke of every word. The more familiarities he noted, the clearer it became to where he had seen them before.

“Ron, look at the writing!” Harry raced over to the doorway where Ron was looking over objects on the glass-top desk. “What does it tell you?”

Ron looked over the diary, not taking it, though. But he didn’t seem to notice anything particularly odd about the handwriting.

“ _Two_ very creepy kids live here?” Ron commented.

Harry fished into his pockets, searching until finally found what he was looking for: an old, crumpled letter that had been a thorn in Harry’s side for more than a week now.

“How about now?” Harry asked, showing it to Ron.

As Ron began to compare the two pieces of paper, his eyes began to widen with recognition, and Harry already knew why. This was the letter that had been sent to Professor McGonagall by Nate Rivers, the one that had started this whole bloody headache.

The letter had seemed so out of the blue when it had arrived, that he had hardly thought to look at the handwriting. It did seem like the signature was different than the hand that had written the body of the letter, but Harry had been running and rushing so much lately, he hadn’t stopped to dwell on it. He hadn’t stopped to consider who had written the letter _for_ Nate, or even if it _had_ been anyone other than Nate.

“The girl who owns this journal also wrote that letter to Professor McGonagall,” Harry thought aloud, walking back towards the window, eyes still spread across the pages. They collaborated with each other!”

Ron didn’t answer or respond in any way to what Harry felt was an amazing discovery. He was about to say something when he heard a very distinct-sounding crack and Ron crumpled to the floor. And then another crack, and another, and another, and another…

“HARRY!” Ron shouted, as the sound of more cracking blows rained down on him. “GET HER OFF! GET HER OFF, PLEASE!”

Harry spun around rapidly to see his best mate crouched on the floor, trying in vain to fend off the smashing blows of a bat wielded by a girl swinging as though she were going for a record.

It took a moment for Harry to realize it, but he recognized the girl wielding the bat. It was the sour-faced girl on the stoop, the older of the Macalister sisters, Lorelei. And, as recently discovered, the author of a certain letter that had been causing Harry far too many migraines as of late.

But _Ron_ seemed to be the one she was causing more at the moment…in his head, and his shoulders, and his shins, and his back…

“YOU…DIRTY…THEIVING…SON OF A BI-”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Harry pointed his wand at the wildly-crazy girl, sending the bat flying out of her hand and over her head, creating a very loud clank as it crashed to the floor unseen.

“Holy hell!” she screamed as she tried to scramble back up to her feet. “NATE!”

She disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Harry raced out of the bedroom after her, leaving Ron behind, finding it hard to believe any worse could happen to him tonight. However, fearing the volume factor only getting louder the longer this went on, Harry swiftly cast a Silencing Charm as he moved. The last thing he and Ron needed was to give the old woman from downstairs yet another reason to call the police; especially if the commotion upstairs caused enough ruckus to actually convince them to come.

Arriving in the adjoining living room and kitchen, he found a baggy-clothed figure slumped over on the breakfast bar. There, in a drugged-looking state of sleep, was Nate Rivers.

“NATE!” Lorelei shouted in her friend’s face, yanking him up by his hair. “Nate Rivers, wakey-wakey! Your best friend needs you!”

It was a dramatically loud smack across the face, causing Nate to topple backwards on the stool, which finally brought Nate to his senses in a fit of stuttering and jerky movement. It was only when his eyes finally focused on Ron and Harry that he finally seemed to be brought completely back to reality.

“MAGIC POLICE!” Nate shouted near to the point of screeching, scrambling onto the toppled stool and pulling himself back to his friend’s side. “You see, Lore? I _told_ you they were following me!”

“Wait,” Lorelei stopped her friend, pointing towards Ron and Harry. “There actually _are_ magic police?”

Nate began to nod, only to be pushed to the floor, stool and all, by the furious-looking girl. “And you led them back here?!”

With so many rapid emotions circling the room, Harry was certain he didn’t trust the girl to be hanging onto a solid metal weapon at the moment; even more so now that he saw the treatment she gave to people she considered her _friends_. With his wand still concealed, a wordless charm sent a few idle knives into a drawer resting below the sink, along with a few forks and a meat tenderizing hammer just for good measure.

Lorelei’s eyes, indicating that she had heard the sound of sliding metal, flicked over to the sink drawer, and then, more slowly, back to Harry. Her expression displayed a variety of different emotions: confusion as to why the bat had been taken from her, annoyance that it had been taken from her, and barely suppressed anger at the two invading strangers in her home and her supposed friend who had led them there.

The one thing she didn’t seem to appear was afraid.

“Now,” Harry began, making sure to keep his movements fluid and his voice low; behavior usually reserved only for when one was approaching a wild animal. “No one is in trouble, and _no one_ is being arrested.”

Harry made sure to stress that point when he noticed the two children tense as he approached them. Even as he watched his movement as carefully as he did, Lorelei continued to move further away, back into the kitchen area. Nate stayed put, but his feet seemed to twitch underneath him, as though he wanted nothing more than to run, even straight out the window.

“This should have gone a lot easier and a lot faster if you weren’t so quick to run, Mr. Rivers.”

Nate offered a disgusted look as he sensed the beginning of lecture in Harry’s voice. “But nobody’s in any trouble here; we don’t even have to leave the flat. We are, however, going to have to have you answer to a few of our questions about Skat-Hatok-”

“Ahhhh!” Ron shouted as a shot of icy water sprayed over his front. “COLD! Really cold!”

Harry had been so focused on keeping his eyes on Nate that he hadn’t even noticed Lorelei creeping back towards the sink. In a small window of opportunity, she reached for the spray nozzle in the sink and began spraying it all over the kitchen. Whether she was merely trying to create a distraction, or if she actually though it might actually do something remained to be seen.

“Oh, for the love of God, Lore!” Nate shouted at his friend. “He’s not the frickin’ Witch of the West!”

It was becoming more and more obvious that these two were not feeling the spirit of cooperation. Neither of them seemed willing to sit down and discuss the situation calmly; the only thing that appeared to garner any sense of respect was when they were staring down the surface of an opposing wand. Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve, making it very visible to the two teenagers. The two didn’t come close to submitting, but there did seem to be a significant decrease in their impulsive desire to fight.

It was a rarity when Harry ever had to pull his wand on a suspect, and in actuality, he had no intention of casting _any_ hex on the two children in front of him. But he could hardly argue with the results.

But there was barely any opportunity for the two teenagers to see the pointed wands, because both his wand and Ron’s, which he hadn’t even drawn yet, flew backwards, over their shoulder, as though attracted by a magnet. The two rods flew right into the waiting hands of a small child with dirty blonde waves and bed-rumpled pajamas. The little girl laughed, tapping the two wands together at the tips. Multi-colored sparks danced from the wands, the little’s girl’s honey brown eyes growing wide with wonder, an awed sigh escaping her lips.

“RAE!” Lorelei shouted. “I told you to go to the neighbors!”

The small child, Rae, looked up at Lorelei, back to Harry and Ron, then back to the two teenagers cowering back in the open kitchen area. She met both opposing parties with a gaze of curiosity and some sort of quiet understanding. But, like Lorelei, she showed no signs of any fear towards the situation.

In the brief moment that their eyes had been averted, Lorelei Macalister had snuck across the room, quietly retrieved the bat, and crept up from behind them to smash Harry right in the back of the knees, sending him crashing to the hard surface of the floor.

“Rae, hide!” Lorelei ordered the younger child.

Harry looked up just in time to see Rae dash off behind the kitchen counter and hear a cabinet door open and close. Nate, in all this madness, had the perfect opportunity to run, but to Harry’s shock, he hadn’t moved from the spot he had been in when Lorelei had first started swinging. And his eyes had never left his friend, who seemed to be the only person in the room who did not put him at unease. He watched her attack with the calm of someone observing something as mundane as a pigeon on the sidewalk; as though this sort of behavior were not only acceptable from his friend, but perfectly ordinary.

What finally did cause him to react was when Lorelei attempted to swing the bat at Ron’s shoulder, missed and fell onto an end table; one of the dark walnut legs cracking and breaking as she went down. Then, he bolted across the living room and dropped to his friend’s side, allowing Harry enough of a diversion to seek after Rae and the wand.

Once on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, he could hear pots, pans, and various metal clanging as Rae crawled through the cabinets. Slowly, stepping softly, Harry followed alongside Rae as she crawled through the shelves, wondering how long it would be before the two teenagers on the opposite end of the flat finally ganged up on him with that Merlin-be-damned bat.

Luckily, though, before that could happen, Rae finally emerged from one of the cabinet doors, looking from side to side, but not seeing Harry standing right behind her. And with an overly large amount of ease, he snatched the two wands out of the girl’s loose grip.

“Thank you, young lady,” Harry remarked, taking one wand and tossing the other to Ron, not seven feet away. Nate and Lorelei had not moved from their crouched positions on the floor, against the wall.

Suddenly, jumping to his feet and making leaps and bounds across the planked floors, he sprinted for the front door.

“ _Colloportus!_ ” Harry shouted, pointing his wand towards the door, effectively sealing it in place. Ordinarily, opting for such a simple charm would have been a poor decision. But as he had yet to see either of the two children extract a wand, Harry began to have serious doubts as to whether either of them even had a wand. They had clearly seen him use a charm to shut them in, but still neither of them employed the use of magic.

Still, Nate strained and pulled at the doorknob, as though he still thought he might be able to force the door open. Lorelei, on the other hand stood stiff, still and rigid, nearly shaking.

But instead, she let out an angry, piercing scream so loud, it could have shattered glass. Actually, glass _did_ shatter. The glass panes from the three living room windows fractured with deep cracks before the shattered fragments scattered across the hardwood floors. Then a loud crack caused Nate to jump back against the walls, doing so just in time to watch the front door fly inches in front of his face, bits of plaster still clinging to the ripped hinges. Soon, several identical rips and crashes told Harry that the rest of the flats doors had been ripped down too.

Unintentional or not, things were getting entirely out of hand. Harry pointed his wand, and a wordless silencing charm quickly ended Lorelei’s shrieks. Once her voice was lost, the girl clutched at her throat and made a desperate effort to speak, but unable to utter more than a few rasping breaths of air.

Still, the entire building shook with the aftershock, coming to an end only after the light surged, flickered and the entire street was plunged into darkness.

For a moment that seemed to last longer than it actually was, the entire apartment was dead silent. Not even the sounds of whispers, movement, or breathing could be heard. Harry found himself confused. Not by the fact that he hadn’t seen either of the older children use magic until now, but by the fact that someone Lorelei’s age was still having fits of uncontrollable magic, at fourteen, possibly fifteen.

“ _Lumos,_ ” Harry whispered, waving his wand across the room. Also whispering a quick “ _Reparo_ ” on the windows, lifting the broken glass of the floor, he hoped against hope that the vanishing electricity would simply be attributed to a power outage and that the American Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee would not need to be called in.

Now all they had to do was attempt to handle the _inward_ situation themselves. Rae peaked out from behind the counter, and soon popped right back behind it as soon as they made eye contact. Brief flashes of movement lurked throughout the flat, taking turns racing between pieces of furniture, but never staying still long enough to be seen.

“911 emergency,” Harry heard a soft, but low voice coming from off to the side. “Please state the nature of your problem.”

While Harry had been distracted, Rae had found a phone hidden somewhere, and was now calling the Muggle police for help, as though they were actually equipped to handle the situation.

“Hello,” she whispered into the phone. “Magic Police are attacking my house.”

“No, no! Not Magic Police!” Nate leapt out from behind the couch and snatched the phone out of Rae’s hand, trying to stop the phone operator from hanging up. “We just found burglars in the house, and they know we’re calling for help right now, so can you please send a car or a SWAT team or somebody!”

Now Harry was simply getting fed up. He had been indulging them as of this moment, because he thought this matter was one that could be solved with a relatively little amount of effort, but now things were simply getting ridiculous.

“That’s it!” Harry shouted, stomping towards Nate with his hand out. “You give that to me right now!”

Instead, demonstrating a complete in ability to learn cause and effect, Nate once again ran for the ripped opening in the wall where the front door had once stood. A Leg Locker Curse, though, quickly put an end to that and sent Nate falling, rather painfully, to the hardwood floor. The phone, however, only landed about a foot from his face, still leaving him with the ability to shout into the receiver with his arms bound at his sides.

“Armed?” Nate repeated what the phone operator asked him, looking up and noting the retrieved wands. “Oh, yeah; they’re armed!”

Crawling between Harry’s legs and grabbing the phone before he could reach of it, Rae snatched and quickly scooted back on her knees.

The cell phone was precious inches away from Rae’s ear when an electronic voice chimed, “Incoming phone call. Would you like to select Call Waiting?”

“Uh, hold on,” Rae told the 911 operator, pressing a button that ended the call and brought the panic sounding mumbles of this new stranger.

“Hello,” Rae spoke to the new stranger, looking as though she were confused. “You tell me first.”

This time, the mumbling voice spoke louder and very quickly. “Look, little girl; either Ron Weasley is there or he isn’t. Just let me know, and let me know RIGHT NOW!”

It was Hermione. This recognition seemed to dawn with Ron first, who quickly raced across the floor and snatched the phone out of Rae’s hand, but not before Rae could playfully reach for the speaker button so everyone would be able to hear what should have been a private conversation.

“Hermione? What’s going on?” Ron gasped, becoming suddenly oblivious the conflict that had just bee accruing around him. “How did you know where I was? How did you think to use the tele-ma-phono?”

Lorelei snorted and raised an eyebrow, and Nate began rolling and thrashing around on the floor in an effort to break the Leg Locking Curse.

“I’ll tell you later.” Hermione’s voice rang clearly over the receiver.

“Hermione,” Ron said, eyes flashing over the scene. “This really isn’t a good time.”

“I wanted to tell you in person, but,” Hermione spoke over the phone, “I can’t put it off anymore. It’s not healthy.”

“Um,” Nate wriggled on the floor, as though trying to wave in an effort to gain the attention of the two Aurors. “Remember us?”

However, while Harry noticed this, Ron didn’t seem to defer at all from his squabble with his wife.

“Hermione,” Ron began again, “I know this has never an official rule, but I can’t have you tracking me down and calling me on people’s tele-ma-phonos when I’m on a case-”

“I’m pregnant!”

Ron’s mouth fell open in shock, and Harry stood motionless off to the side. Rae began to clap and smile at what she thought was good news, but slowed and finally stopped when she noticing the conflicting reactions around the room.

“Ron,” Hermione began to panic when she did not hear a response. “Ron, you’re speechless, right? Ron?”

Finally, in a dramatic reaction normally only reserved for over-the-top movies, Ron fell to the floor and did not get up, his eyes shut and a gentle groan escaping from his mouth.

“RON,” Hermione screamed into the phone, “RON, SAY SOMETHING!”

Lorelei walked over to Ron and picked up the phone, holding it up to her ear before remembering that the Silencing Charm was still in effect. Carefully, Harry took the phone from her before she could remember it was _Harry_ that had taken her voice in the first place.

“Um…hello, Hermione; it’s Harry,” he spoke into the phone. “Ron’s going to have to call you back, alright?”

With Hermione still yelling, Harry handed the phone back to Lorelei, who was standing right next to him with her hand out. Stiffly, she snapped the phone shut and pointed to her throat and then to her friend wriggling on the floor. Warily, Harry lifted the effects of the respective charms and breathed a sigh of relief when neither of them ran. Lorelei pulled a still-struggling Nate to his feet, and then tapped her bare foot against Ron’s shoulder.

Nothing. Maybe things had just become too interesting for either of them to leave now.

“I’m…gonna go clean the kitchen,” Lorelei said as she passed the phone off to Nate.

“And,” Nate though as he watched his friend walk away and turned back to Harry, “I’m gonna go reattach all the doors.”

And with Ron sprawled out on the floor, not moving, Harry was left alone with little Rae, staring at the phone as though it were some new toy.

“I’m hungry,” Rae muttered sweetly and smiled up at Harry, as though oblivious to the scene that had just played out.


End file.
